Eleanor McMain High School - Echoes Yearbook (New Orleans, LA)

Page 32 text:

Memories fContinued from page 285 This same routine every day was Nancy's life for the next two years. She saw no -one but her own family, and remained at home most of the time. She became pale and nervous. Any little thing tired her. Her family worried constantly about her ap- pearance and general health. Her mother had been trying to convince her that she would enjoy a visit to her uncle in Charleston. After much persuasion she decided to go. Two weeks later we find Nancy in Charleston. She doesn't go to parties or teas as she used to, but prefers to drive down to the wharf every day with her uncle, where his busi- ness carries him. One morning, while she was wait- ing for her uncle to negotiate a deal, she notices a young man disembark- ing from the boat in front of her. Never in all her life had she seen such a livid scar-it crossed the man's cheek from his eye to his jaw. Something caught in her throat- this man looked so much like Robert. Oh, but how could this be? He was dead. Surely her eyes must be be- traying her. For, as if he had sensed that she was looking at him, he turned around completely and stared at her. Slowly he smiled and start- ed to walk toward her. Nancy sat in the carriage like a statue. This man walked like Rob- ert and smiled as he did.-Maybe after all he was the man she loved and thought dead. This stranger who stood before her, looking into her eyes and slow- ly saying, Nancy, I've come back, made her realize that he was not a stranger at all, but the man who had left two years ago, to study in Europe, and had never come back- the man she loved. Little by little her voice came back but all she could say was, Robert A few seconds later she was out of the carriage and into his arms, sobbing because she was so happy. She felt his face, his hair, his hands, asking over and over again-- Is it you, Robert? Is it really you? After regaining their equilibrium, they stepped into the carriage. Nancy asked, Where have you been all this time? You look so thin and tired, darling. And that scar- .oh, it's awful-how did that come about? Robert laughed, Nancy, Nancy, how can I answer all those questions at the same time? Are you com- fortable? I will tell you very short- ly what I have been doing these two long, worried years. Robert told of the terrible storm and how he and another passenger holding on to some timber, finally reached an out-of-the-way island. They were so exhausted they could not move for days. The few white people on the island took them in and cared for them until they be- came Well. After he regained his health, he inquired how he could get back to the United States in the quickest possible way. They told him that a ship came to the island only once every year and a half, but, to his bitter disappoinment, he dis- covered that the boat had called and left a few weeks previous. He roamed over the island in despair. He knew he could not leave in an open boat, for the distance was too great. With his impatience growing every day, he waited for the ship to return. The time passed slowly, but, at last, they were awaiting its arrival. On the morning it was sighted, some were eagerly looking forward to its arrival-others were not. For some, there would be letters from homey for some there would be nothing, but for him-he knew now he was going home to Nancy. H When she ship docked, Robert went straight to the captain and asked if he could secure passage .to America. The captain looked him over, and asked how much money he had. After hearing that he had none, he promptly said, No, and told him to get off the boat. How-, ever, Robert would not give up that easily, for he 'just had to get home. He explained his situation to the captain, who agreed to let him settle for his ticket when he reached the United States. ' Robert ended his story with, And now, I'll tell you about this scar. It is the result of an encounter with a drunken native, but let us forget it all now. Here I am back in a civi- lized world. It seems too good to be true. F Nancy had been listening very in- tently, and after Robert -finished telling his story, she sighed and said, While you were living on that awful island, I was here having everything I wanted but youf As long as we live, I shall try to make the world a little better for you, anyd you must promise to -'try to forget that awful experience. Robert looked into her soft, loving eyes and thought to himself how lucky he was to have won the- love of such a wonderful girl. Many years have passed since then, but the old house still remembered what a beautiful life Robert and Nancy had lived together. Those happy days were gone, and the old house had settled herself comfortably to start a new life, sheltering a new family and to form new loves for the occupants. E :I Thirty Wishing Mathilda Ducas, '42 I wish I were an artist, 1'd paint the trees and birds, l'd write my thoughts in paintings, Instead of writing words. Fd sit and paint a picture Of while giants in a heaven blue With daisies on a hillside, And cattle grazing too. E-C-H-0-E-S

Page 31 text:

Ther And The NSW shine, Mae vnu., '41 IT was a cold winter morning that got Jerry out of bed that day, and I must also say, in a very bad mood. Why does the bell have to ring at this hour? I heard her say as she descended the long staircase. Es- pecially on a Saturday at that! Well, what is it? A young, not sturdy, but cheer- ful boy stood .at the door holding a yellow envelope in his hand. A telegram for Miss Marquis! It was a shock to Jerry as she read- Come at once. Airplane crash. Father dying. Love, Mother. She couldn't believe her eyes. Why, her Dad never had a crackup. Her eyes bore a bewildered expression as she hurriedly packed, and, as she went out the front door, I saw the tears beginning to roll down her soft cheeks. At the hospital Jerry stood beside her Mother, inwardly making a vow that if Father died, she would never again look at an airplane. I re- member her saying at the funeral a few days later that she hated the mere word aircraft. She was only fifteen then, but the memory of those few days lived on, and, often as I sat with her she would say that if it weren't for air- planes her Father might still be alive. One day she met a young man, Jack Bordon, who absorbed a great deal of her time. He took her to nice places and I saw little of Jerry, until one day she came into the house screaming that she never wanted to see Jack again. He was a pilot, and, as you know, Jerry dis- liked pilots, not because they were pilots, but because deep down with- in her she was afraidg-afraid that airplanes might harm someone whom she might care for. That is the rea- son I persuaded Mrs. Marquis to have a talk with Jerry. She was surely old enough now to understand that hatred was no way to feel towards a mere profession. Besides, years have passed since her father's day, E-C-H-0-E-S and airplanes are now much safer. You wouldn't think that the fear of the air would last as long as six years, but it did with Jerry. I saw the fear slowly leaving her as day by day Jack and she rode out to the airport,-no, not the same one Cut by Robin Ahrens 'fShe belonged to a family of pilots where her father's crackup occurred, but nevertheless, an airport. However, after she herself had fully mastered a plane, she took the job of housewife to a pilot. Yes, Jack and she were married,-not a large wedding, but a very pretty one. For five years they lived in a small three-room apartment located in a very aristocratic neighborhood, and then they moved., No, Jack wasn't raised in salary, but they were now a family. Yes, now they were .a family-Jerry had a child, a girl. They called her Marquette,-an odd name, but something like her grand- father's whose memory still lingered in Jerry's heart. It was after Marquette entered school that the misfortune happened. I recall that Jack was away on a business trip. Marquette came home from school feeling very ill. The doctor said it was a rare disease, so rare that I have forgotten the name. At any rate there was no cure. At least that's what they thought. Some- one, a neighbor, I believe, knew a doctor in Nevada who could help, but it was such a long distance, and time was short. The fever grew worse, and finally the idea came to Jerry to fly to Nevada. Who could take them - remember - Jack was away. Did Jerry have the courage to fly there with Marquette, and at the same time know she w.as re- sponsible for a small child's life,- her ehild's? It was all there was left to do, and so they left. I remember the day they reached Nevada. Jack was waiting out on the field. It was a fine exhibition of courage and bravery and he was proud of her. Well, Marquette got well. The doctor said the disease had received attention just in time. The family returned home when Marquette was able to walk, and I think I heard Jerry tell her husband as they entered the front door that a new member would soon be .added to their family A future pilot, no doubt? I saw Jerry as she thought about this. She belonged to a family whose pilots died and whose pilots brought life to future pilots. I believe she shed a tear as she remembered her father, and then, she smiled a little as she thought about the new life soon to enter the bewildering world which held joy and sorrow for both the old and the new. Twenty-nine

Page 33 text:

Happ Birthda Cynthia Twigg, '41 But just wait until Lee sees this necktie. He won't notice Rex then, I bet. What shall I write on the card? L e t-m e-s e e ! How KNIT one, purl two, lblonde hair, blue eyesj Knit two, purl one, iHe's is so nice lookingj Knit twog purl three. Oh, dear! Why can't I concentrate? There! I've dropped a stitch! I must hurry. Today is his birthday, and I am almost finished. It's going' to be such a pretty tie. Blue trimmed in pink to go with his blonde hair! Blonde hair has al- ways been my weakness, even when I was a child. And now that I am fwell, I shall be thirteen am in love for the first the last time, for I could grown up, in Mayj I time-and, never love again after knowing' him. Didn't he offer me a bite of his apple? And doesn't he take me riding on the handle-bars of his bike? Knit oneg purl two! I must concentrate. I must hurry. There is so little time to finish this wonderful tie. Of course, it is not nearly wonderful enough for him. There! Dropped another stitch. Let me think. Oh! I can cover the gaps with little pink and blue bows. He is just perfect, except for Rex, that horrid dog of his. Rex. Huh! How anyone could want that beast is Cut By Mary Mac Gowan Knit oneg purl two. There! It's would this be? Roses are red, violets are blue, I knitted this tie specially for you. Pretty neat. Knit oneg purl two. There! It's finished. I'll wrap it up prettily in silver paper, and tie it with a single bow of sister's blue ribbon, so he can open it easily. Boys ale so clumsy, all fingers and thumbs. And now I shall run over and leave it at his house. Oh! Oh! There he comes up the walk now. And that dirty old Rex with him! That old dog had better not jump on Sis's silk stock- ings and make a run in them. She'd skin me alive if I ruined her best pair. Wish I hadn't put them on. Here he is. Hello, Lee. Why do I blush right up to ears? And why, oh why, can't I remember to act like Joan Crawford did in that picture I saw last week. She's such a smoothie . Lee, here's a present I made all by myself. Happy Birthday, Lee. Well, he's blushing just as red as I did, anyway. Now he's opening it. Oh! I know he loves it just by thc - - ,, ' h '.l k' .t't. N h '. beyond me. Why, only yesterday finished N 00 mg rl 1 OW e li Rex bumped me so hard that I fell b right into the mud puddle. And Oh! What was that he Saud? just when I was trying to walk like Gee! Gosh! Thanks! A real hand Marlene Dietrich! knitted collar for Rex. Talking Nell Walling, '41 My favorite pastime is to talk, When there's someone near to listen, But even if there isn't IV hy nothing great is missing,- For walls and tables and parlor chairs Are always willing palsy Then I'm sure the things I tell Won? get to other gals. Some of the silly things I do I wouldn't dare repeat, But then it's awfully easy To tell the footstool at my feet. E-C-H-O-E-S For people would think I'm foolish, The little things I do, I wouldfft tell them to anyone, No, not even you. Because I have disfoverezl That if a secret's yours You yourself must keep it Behind your mind's locked doors. If once you let it slip, Or confide it to a friend No more it is a secret, For there it meets its end. Thirty-one