Marcellus Central High School - Marcellian Yearbook (Marcellus, NY)

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FIRST PRIZE SHORT STORY THE MOON ROSE Upon this Iune day in the year 1780, the patriots were gathered outside the tavern door, the witch girl Iudith apart from the others, her black horse, Fonso, tugging impatiently at her arm, and Grandame Pettingbone's voice shrilling above the babble. Hiram won't be back tonight, I guess, and he's been gone three days. lt's pretty dangerous work carrying Washington's message, but he's bound to get along in the world, Hiram is, and that witch girl. Iudith, fools herself in thinking the lad cares for her. Why, l know he's another sweetheart in Boston town. The girl took a step forward to answer back hotly, then stopped and stood motionless. Happens the Boston girl is rich and comely, quoted the old deacon, but l would not have thought the lad be so soon drawn from his former fancy. Fancyl 'Tis but a madness she spreads over him as she spreads it over dumb animals she bends to her will. But in verity, the folly is over now, and Iudith may lind her another sweetheart, for Hiram will marry the Boston girl as soon as the war is over. With a malicious glance, the old woman passed on toward the tavern door, and the girl started after her, her hands clasped together. I care not. He may marry her if he pleases, but it is I he loves, and I am fair to look upon as any maid. He has wooed me only as men woo the women they would make their wives, but because of my grandmother's ill repute, he has grown faint hearted and must choose another. Let him and may the ill luck that ever follows broken faith attend them both. Even as she spoke there was the sound of horse's hoofs, and a tired steed turned in at the tavern road, stumbling in its weariness, as the rider flung himself upon the ground. Know ye aught of a man called Hiram Pettingbone? he wearily asked. A dozen voices cried, Aye, we know him. Is there news? Aye, the worst. He has been captured by our patriots in yonder town, with a British uniform underneath his own, and they believe him a British spy. He sent me to bring back this paper, signed as proof of his innocence, but the British hold the river road and 'tis fifteen miles around. Would to Heaven it had not happened so, for if word of his innocence is not brought back by moon rise- He made a gesture with his hands about his throat, and those who saw him gave a short gasp, as if they felt the rope about their own necks. But Grandame Pettingbone broke forth with impatient words, No, No, Don't say it! My boy, my own brave boyl There must be some way to save him. The Lord would not let an innocent man die a traitor's death. There is a cross road that leads by the meadow. Can't someone go that way? But it leads by the British camp. The Lord would help him past. Even so, there comes the big ravine. Not a horse in town could take that leap, unless- He looked at Iudith and the huge black stallion tugging at her arm. The girl took a step forward, then turned away. Love and anger were lighting a fierce battle in her heart and would not let her speak. In the silence that followed, the tavern clock struck seven.

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LITERARY

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Hiram was an upright lad and never faltered in his duty, muttered the old deacon brokenly,- but an hour from now he dies a traitor's death. At those words, Love conquered, as in the end, Love must ever do. The girl sprang forward. Give me the papers, cried she, I'll take it to him or die in trying to do so. She shook the bridle on Fonso's neck. T'was an even chance twixt life and death, for the one who made the journey, and the girl's heart kept time to the soft thud of the horse's hoofs as she urged him to greater speed across the meadow road, and drew rein only as she neared the gleam of British camp fires. All doubt and mistrust were forgotten now, merged into the one great hope of saving her lover's life. Softly, Fonso.-Softly. Not a twig must crackle underfoot. Creep,-Creep till we have passed the danger zone. We are nearing the camp! We are abreast of it now! And still they don't see us! Hush! 'Tis the sentry! Ah! he is passed. On! On! 'Tis but a moment more. Oh Heaven! On! What is that? A voice cried, Halt! , A trumpet sounded. The sleeping camp was aroused. On Fonso! On! 'Tis good horse against good horse now. 'Tis woman's love against martial law: a patriot's life our reward. Fonso heard her call and answered it. At every spring of his powerful body his speed increased. until his swiftly flying hoofs seemed hardly to touch the ground. Yet behind her she could still hear the hoof beats of her foremost pursuer, a foe invisible but still steadily advancing. An opening in the trees- at last he could see her. Halt or I'll fire. Ah,-what care she for bullets? Halt now so close to victory? No! No! Rather on! Cn! AND thank God for it, the despised gift, the mastery of horses that may yet save my sweetheart's life. She was gaining, the man's heavier weight had begun to tell, but as Iudith rode on, the cool night air whipped back her raven black hair, and the darkness in the east was pierced by the early moon. She had two rivals now, and one of them was Father Time. Confused memories flirted through her mind. Hiram's look, his kiss, his word. Farewell, and Heaven grant the parting be not for long. Aye, Heaven grant it! Heaven grant the parting be not for eternity. Faster, faster, in a mad rush o'er the well beaten path, across the bog, never slacking though the horse's hoofs sank deep in the mire. And then the ravine, black and formidable, loomed before her. Would the faithful Fonso take the leap? The girl leaned forward-- Fonso, my beauty, my darling. Do not fail me now. Take the leap and you shall be treasured as a horse was never treasured before. You can! You must! You will! Please don't fail me now. Through the yellow radiance of the early rising moon, a condemned man was being led forth to execution. Already the blind had been placed on his eyes, the soldiers had taken their places, the chaplain stood with uncovered head, And may the Lord have mercy! But Hark! A woman's scream of agony, a foam flecked horse dashing madly up the road, a girlish form, an upraised hand. Wait, Wait! For God's sake, wait. This paper, read it. He's innocent! A shout from a hundred throats answered her call but Iudith heard only one voice, that of her ardent, her devoted lover, Hiram, crying Hludith, darling! as he caught her up in his arms. CHARLES GALLINGER if? SECOND PRIZE WINNER-Only the Good Die Young .... Jean Hayes THIRD PRIZE WINNER-Fiesta .....,.,. ,,........,.,......,..... . , ..,..., Muriel Bird