Immaculata Academy - Lilium Convallium Yearbook (Portland, OR)

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LILIUM CONVALLIUM 35 could it mean? I gazed about in wonder. All the men stood with bared heads bent reverently, the women with piously folded hands. Was the hearse passing? I could see none. Then the church bell pealed out. It was the evening Angelus. Try as we would, we could not get into the spirit of the place. The village might as well have been in some foreign country, for we were certainly for- eigners there. W'e looked forward with relief to the close of school when we should be free to go where something happened Cat least once in a whilej. In this place life seemed dull and drab. The most exciting event of the year occurred one very warm Sunday in spring when the candles on St. Joseph's altar melted. Yet, somehow, vacation did not seem so wonderful after all. There was something lacking. Why did we notice the noise so much? And did it not seem queer to be wakened in the morning by the sound of an alarm clock instead of by footsteps? And it seemed so lonesome without the ringing of the Angelus in the evening. On our return to school in the fall we chose a route we had never traveled before. We had the good fortune to get an exceptionally striking view of the village. The first thing distinguishable was the church. As we drew nearer we could see the houses around. Majestically enthroned upon a hill at one end of the village stood the collee, while the more humble academy was satisfied to repose at the opposite end. How well it had been laid out, the church in the center, the homes around the church and the schools on the outskirts. Why, that was it! By that simple chance we had at last stumbled upon the secret of the entire village. The church in the center, the rest of the village circling around it. Yes, that was indeed the keynote! All the functions centered around the church. That was, too, the way life should be, and the way we then and there resolved to make our lives. Nevermore were we foreigners in this quiet, restful, sleepy, rcposeful, pious little town. -MARY WILLIAMS, 'z6. Marie Michael Mernilo, an influential official in the Mexican government, leaned majestically back in his office chair and took a huge cigar out of his mouth in order to sec better thc little girl in front of him. Please, Senor Mernilo, why did those wicked men close our school and make the Sisters run away? Sister Mary Joseph's eyes were red, so I guess they made her cry. Won't you make them stop? The little girl was Marie Peruza, a sweet, earnest child of ten years. This religious persecution in Mexico bothered her, especially since it was directed against her teachers, the Sisters. Michael Mernilo's face grew troubled. I-Ie loved little children and in particular this little one of whom he had become fond as soon as she moved into the little house next door. She reminded him of his only baby daughter, Angele, whom they had lost in a train wreck eight years ago. At this recol- lection, the man's face hardened and he turned fiercely to the little girl. Why should I protect those Sisters? Run home now and don't talk to me about such things again. Little Marie trembled before his angry look. Regretting his harsh words, he called her back. Here, little one, is a quarter. Buy yourself some candy n

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34 LILIUM CONVALLIUM A Quaint Village People speak of the quaint, romantic, old villages of England, or Ireland, or Switzerland, or Germany, or any and all other countries of Europe, but they seldom designate the towns of our own United States as quaint. Not far away, however, in the very center of Willainette Valley is such a place! For quietness, picturesqueness, and quaintness, I am willing to champion it against almost any town of Europe . It was at the beginning of my high school career that my mother, desiring to have us attend one of the best schools and at the same time be with us, decided to live, for that winter, in this little village, for in spite of its oddness, it is a well known educational center. My first impression of my temporary home was a decided shock! I had pictured it as the usual college town, up to date, lively, bustling, filled with numerous picture show halls, confectionery stores, bakeries, and the like. We arrived, after a tiresome three-day journey by automobile, just as the silvery tongued church bell was singing its last summons to Bencdiction. Having made arrangements at one of the two small hotels, we started out on a tour of inspection to our new home. The dimly lighted streets were completely deserted. After leaving the three or four blocks of the business section, we frequently tripped over loose planks and stumbled into the holes of the board sidewalks. Many times I congratulated myself that I had not worn my best shoes. Of the house which was to bc ours, nothing could be plainly distinguished on account of the darkness. However, we unlatched the small iron gate and walked into the yard. Wliile we made a circuit of the building, our clothes were continually caught by the long, untrimmed rose bushes. The grass, both in the yard and in the adjoining orchard, was as high as hay in a field. Being unable to explore the house, since we had no keys, we stumbled back to the inn. Next morning at about six o'clock I was awakened by the noise of hurry- ing footsteps. It sounded as though a parade was going by, or else this town was really more alive than I had imagined. For nearly an hour I lay there listening to the people going past, then the church bell rang out in the crisp air. Oh, that was it! That solved the mystery. Everyone in the village attended the six-thirty mass, and it was not Sunday either! Soon we learned that to sleep after six o'clock one must be deaf for, after the quietness of the night, those pounding feet on the board walks had the same effect as an alarm clock. There were two masses on week days, and four on Sundays, besides this, Benediction and Holy Hour on Sunday and Thursday evenings. Those people were not satisfied with attending mass on Sunday! nor yet every morning! The greater number of them were present at every mass all week long. In the daylight the town presented an entirely different appearance. The houses were small, neat, and well kept, the lawns smooth and lined with flowers of many kinds. Each back yard presented at least a small garden which in every case was so well cared for that it was a sight of beauty. Many of the people kept cows and most of them had a few chickens. In good and bad weather there was always someone wheeling a wheelbarrow around some place. The people in our neighborhood, we discovered, were all elderly, most of them retired farmers, who had come to live their last few years near the Church. That first evening I witnessed, for the first, though by no means the last, time a most inspiring sight. I had been sent on an errand, and, as I hurried along, it suddenly impressed me that everyone else was standing still. What

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36 LILIUM CONVALLIUM and forget what I just said. Some clay I'll tell you the story of a sweet little girl who was deprived of life and happinessf' The little girl, not quite understanding what kind of story he meant and seeing that she could do nothing, sadly left the office. She had grown to like this austere man and to love his wife very dearly, because they were most kind to her, whereas at home she received little affection. Marie visited them a short time almost every day, but today, after the disturbing scene at school, she had conceived the idea of stopping to see Senor Mernilo at his office to enlist his opposition to the persecutors. She was indeed surprised at his atti- tude, for she had not suspected that a lady like Senora Mernilo, who received Holy Communion daily, could have an anti-Catholic husband. Well, she said to herself confidently, Pm going to pray to our Blessed Mother for him. Our Lady of Guadalupe will surely convert him. As soon as Marie had left, Senor Mernilo arose and paced back and forth. Thoughts of their treasured little daughter, so suddenly snatched from them, filled his mind. Senora had borne their loss nobly and he knew she had loved the baby more than herself. She had become a better Catholic, while he had turned his back upon God for political power. XY'ho was the happier? He had to admit that she was more contented than he. He was surprised to find the wall of indifference to God thus crumbling in his heart after the eight years he had been trying to build it. He clenched his hands and shook himself as if to throw off some burden. What! am I going to think next of going back to the Church and losing my position? he muttered. Indeed not! Even as he said this many straight arrows of love and entreaty, sent up by his devoted wife and a little ten-year-old child, pierced the loving heart of Mary on his behalf. One day Mernilo was instructed to raid a large convent and destroy every- thing pertaining to religion. He hesitated a while but finally determined to cast all scruples aside. Had he not been anxious for just such a chance to show his loyalty to Mexico? He accordingly ordered a band of soldiers to fulfill the command to the letter. These men, eager for plunder, arrived at the convent long before Mernilo expected. Consequently, by the time he arrived, broken statues and wrecked altars covered che once shining floors. The sight of the ruins touched his heart and he quickly dismissed the men before they could see his emotion. Pshaw! I'm getting as soft-hearted as a woman, he muttered. He hurried through the building to see that the orders had been carried out, while he steeled his heart against his finer feelings. When he came to the once beautiful chapel, he found a desolate spot indeed. The stained glass windows were knocked out, the altars were broken, and the stations were shattered almost to dust. He started in haste from this place which held so many reproaches for him and almost burst the stony covering of his heart. He reached the door, when, glancing down, he stepped back in fright. His face turned ashen gray and his breath came in gasps. Memories of happy days in God's love flooded his mind. But these memories were not the cause of his agitation. He was gazing at a totally undamaged picture of our Lady of Guadalupe, left unnoticed behind a pile of ruins. He recalled his mother's great love of our Lady under this title and his own promise to her when she was dying, that he would always cherish the devotion. This picture was the exact reproduction of the one that his mother had hung at the head of his bed and of the life-size one which adorned the old home parlor. Before it the family had gathered for evening prayers and before it he had poured forth many childish troubles. Little Angele had also been consecrated to our Lady of Guadalupe. At each new remembrance a sword of remorse pierced his heart. Then despair tried