Buxton School - Yearbook (Williamstown, MA)

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The water would come in and we would be drowned. Yes, that's so, isn't it? I felt nervous the next few times we went there. She told me many things, strange and beautiful things, but always about the sea. She knew the winds, the rides, the very rumblings of the ocean floor. She knew the clouds and what they meant, why the birds flew inland, and how the currents ran. All these things she taught me, in snatches. But, as the end of August drew near, I had to ad- mit to myself that she was stranger than ever. I began to be afraid of her. In her friendliest moods she sensed it and tried to make up for it in every way, she knew, a bracelet she had made of shells, a wishing stone with a ring around it. But the moods lengthened. She would sit on the rocks for hours without hearing or speaking. Her obsession with the endless waves grew. She told me the wind that blew from the ocean never stopped in her ears. The last day of August I went down to the beach to say good-bye. We were going back to the city the day after. It was late afternoon when I clam- bered over the sharp grass on the dunes, so like her, I thought. Katherine was sitting by the hole of the cave - our cave as it had come to be. A mist covered all but a few yards of the glassy, grey sea, yet she was staring into it. The wind blew fret- fully, chopping the waves into harsh spurts of crinkling foam. I walked over awkwardly. We're going tomorrow back to the city. She did not an- swer. Katherine, I said loudly. She might at least answer me. She turned her pale face toward me. The eyes were bigger than ever, though they had always seemed large, Katherine, -I've come to say good-bye. Good-bye. She said the words slowly, like a child learning to speak. I'll miss you, but we'll be back next summer. She took my arm hungrily, her long fingers dig- ging until they hurt. Good-bye. Good-bye, Jessie. I stood for a while, then turned away. I felt like crying. Then I started back. She did not notice. At the edge of the dunes, I stopped to wave. She did not wave back. The next morning I ran to Mother in the midst of my packing. Have you some paper to wrap shoes with, please? She gave me a piece. As I rolled up the sneakers I saw a small column on the side of the page. It was the morning paper. It said that a girl, Katherine Logan, had been found drowned in a cave. She was found by a fisherman collecting his lobster pots. She had evidently slipped on the rocks and fallen through as the tide was coming in. She was dead when he fpund her. The tide had left her body against a rock. The rocks were dangerous. A warn- ing sign was to be erected to prevent further . . . accidents. Diana H iit TO YOU ALKING up the hill, the one columned with pines, Their branches covered by an April snow, I thought about, oh, millions of things, But mostly I thought about you. You whom I remember so well From the old times, the good times, Way back when we were young. In the times when we knew no hate, When there was only love and happiness. Yes, there were some sad times too, The time when Cindy the cat died, Or when we had to give Ibby away, But mostly then we were surrounded by joy. And then THAT happened and we got olderg You changed, and I guess I did too. You seemed so weighed down by life, So reserved that I was afraid of you. You held yourself behind a high wall, And try as I might I could not get over it. And then suddenly as the wall went up It came down and you and I were close again. As I walk on and look at the pine trees, I know that their white blanket is like life. It is just a temporary cover against the world, And soon it will melt away and the sun Will shine on the limbs making a bright picture, And everything will be clear again As it is between you and me now. Pbyllir Tompkins

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FIRST spoke to Katherine when-Tommy and I were swimming in a newly discovered cove, salt water in the mouth, salt water in the nose, squashing wet sand . . . the first day of freedom. It was then we saw her. She was crouched on a rock, her fists tight and small. The incessant wind flattened her hair against her thin head and pressed her dress against the knobby bones of her straight body. Tender, yet sharp, alone with all that mighty water surging and grumbling beneath. She turned with sudden terror, seeing us. We walked over, shaking the water off, and asked her name. Katherine, she said, and waited. How old are you? Thirteen Timmy rubbed a smooth-alleyway into the sand with his toes. I'm Tommy Reynolds. Oh, my sister Jessie. Katherine nooded quickly. We come here in the summer. This is our first day this year, jessie's a year younger than you. She's twelve. I'm fifteen. Katherine watched him gravely. Do you come to this beach a lot? I asked. Every day, she said and smiled a little. Well, we'll have to be going along. See you some- time. Tommy picked up his towel and we started home. The next day I came down to the cove by my- self to start a shell collection. Every one in our class in the city had to find some project to work on. I was collecting shells. Katherine was squatting on her heels, holding her hand out to a sea gull. The bird came closer and closer. Suddenly it thrust out its wings and skimmed away. You frightened him, she said sadly. I'm sorry. It doesn't matter. She picked herself up, dust- ing her hands nervously. l have to find some shells for my science class, I ventured. I felt like a trespasser. The best ones lie under the tide marks. The sea leaves them there when it doesn't want them any more. We dug together in silence. Toward the end of the morning we stopped. My sweater was full of shells, pink and coral and pearl and chalk shells. Thank you for showing me. They're lovely, I said. They belong to anyone. You can have them the same as the rest. With a swelling of gratefulness I asked her to lunch. I don't think it would be possible. She looked at me oddly. Thank you just the same. I've newer been asked before. She lifted her head proudly. You'll be here tomorrow? And so our friendship stayed within the beach where we had first met. She never let it go further. Day after day I would wake in the morning and think of all the things to do in two short months. Yet, I would walk toward the beach . . . and Kath- erine. Even Tommy came sometimes, but for the most part, he played tennis at the club with his friends. I had friends too, of a sort. At least we said hello every time we met. But, Katherine was the only one I didn't feel shy with. More and more I spent my time with her and the sea she loved. She didn't seem to care if I came or not. She ac- cepted me. Mother asked at the beginning why I spent so much time, at the beach. She didn't know about Katherine. Somehow I never thought to tell her. Tommy had other things on his mind, so he forgot too. Summer went by carrying the sweet sadness that summers are made of at twelve. Katherine and I found many things to do in those weeks. We would build sand castles, digging furiously as the tide came in. To me it was just a game, sobering and deliberate, building, digging, piling, and patting until the sea ended it. To Katherine it was a des- perate, terrifying race. Her white face would stiffen until the veins showed and her breath came in great gasps. She dug, struggling for what . . . I shall never know. Often we climbed the rocks on either side of the coveg sharp, cutting, deceitful stones, so easy to slip on. There was a cave under one of the piles, only a hole at the top when the tide was higl When the tides were low, you could let yourself dowi. into the damp, stale-smelling cavern and creep oi all fours on the pebbly floor to the entrance. It hat a distinct odor of fish, but you could find jewels of all colors among the pebbles. They were only smooth bits of bottles. We had a treasure chest made of an old tin can, and kept them in it to count gleefully. You could drop into the cave from the hole, when the tide was low. Once, Katherine pulled me down with her on a ledge beneath the hole. How long would you sit here? she said. Why? I asked. The tide is coming in. I know. We can't stay much longer. No, I don't suppose we can.

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HE old house stood still as the darkness began to slip away. The big oaks that surrounded the house did not move their weary limbs. The tall grass did' not sway. The mountains smiled but their music could not be heard, because it was muffled by a heavy mist, a mist that was creeping its way over the fields and toward the house. The door opened, and a small child stepped out in night clothes, with a warm jacket wrapped tightly about him. He stood there for a moment and watched the mist crawl slowly towards him, his dreamy eyes watching it with wonderment. He looked to the sky and saw a small speck of daylight breaking forth. He quickly put on his shoes that were clutched in his strong little hand and raced out into the fields, then up the hill. And as if out of nowhere, a slight breeze stirred the tall blades of grass. Faster, faster, faster, it said, as it whispered softly past the boy. A puzzled expression grew Hearing no answer, he went on. When he was almost to the top of the hill, he looked up and there he saw the sun rising over the top. He stopped and looked for a long time at the burning ball of fire. He seemed to hear it laugh, laugh right out loud at him. He put his hands over his ears and closed his eyes, but still he heard it. It was becoming louder. Tears were running down his high cheek- bones and over his thin lips. Opening his watery brown eyes, he found he could not see the sun, for it was hidden by the mist, but he could hear, he could hear that infernal laughter. He put his hands to his forehead and his small fingers wove through his dirty blonde hair. A large hand rested on his shoulder. He looked up, then bowed his head and mumbled. The sun beat me. For the first time it won. It reached the top of the hill before I had a chance. Then it laughed at me and laughed and laughed. He looked over his face. up at his father and said, It beat me. I-Iow can I go any faster when I am going as fast as I can now? HE door swings open, in we file Pensive and moody, without a smile. The faculty sits in -the judgement seat, What are the punishments we must mete To hear the wrongs the faculty found. The meeting is closed and Wim begins To state the Cmanyj students' sins. Some unknown and pernicious child Has written, f'Wim just drives me wild. And more, and worse, upon a board. Poor Wim's heart has been quite gored By such harsh words and unkind thoughts. This uncouth action must be fought. The precedent's the thing, he said. Think of the harm that might be bred. The talk goes round and round and round, The naughty culprit can't be found. The Student Council , they exclaim, They should find the one to blame. Next case comes up, it seems that Mable Has scratched her name upon a table. She's too neurotic, Mrs. Sangster says, ON FACULTY MEETINGS To punish in the common ways. Think of her dreadful broken home, Think of her sister killed in Nome, Think of her dog and his itchy fleas, And all of her little neuroses. Koch makes his longest speeches on Perhaps she doesn't feel in accord With all her friends, and only wrecks, Because of her inferiority complex. The students rise to the occasion And give to Koch a big ovation For his remarkable astuteness. Now with her remarkable acuteness Anne says, I make a motion that The Student Council have a chat Again with her and if that fails We all know what the deed entails, record, THE WOODPILEV' and a dreadful hush Comes at the thought of chopping brush. It seems that all do not agree. Bill says, I think perhaps that three Logs might be chopped to give the air 34 Lil Blot Of making everything quite fair. The amended motions duly passed The problems follow, thick and fast. Poor Mrs. Seymour lists her woe Which every meeting seems to grow. Some one's been in the pantry again, Broken the window in by main Force and stolen all the cheese And ice cream too from the deep freeze The culprits must be found and punished Or else in the future we'll be famished Angelic expressions all appear Mingled with suppressed fear Upon the Student Council's faces. All these ordinary cases For the strangely worried members. No one knows, or even remembers Who could have done this dreadful thing At last the bell is heard to ring, The motion rises to depart, Which people do with a light heart. Gzlhan