Pembroke Academy - Academian Yearbook (Pembroke, NH)

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THE. gcAo-zMlA.,u rig., had to work also. Louise what her mother said was knew that true , but she also knew that there was a boy living a couple of miles down the road who was nearly twice as old as she, and- who was looking for work. She had heard that no one would hire' him because he drank and was unbelievably lazy, but, at that time, it had seemed as though her father hadn't hired him so that he would have an excuse for making her work. Louise remembered, too, that her father had often been gruff in the evening-snot cross, but, just not saying much. Her mother had told her not to bother him, because he was worried about making both ends meet. Her mother needn't have men- tioned it--Louise never would have bothered him. There were numerous little things that made her dislike her father more and moreg but soon af- ter her sixteenth birthday the fi- nal blow came. Her mother had become very ill, and her father had gone for the doc- tor, leaving Louise there alone with her mother. Before her father had returned, her mother had died. Childlike, she had to blame someone and the blame naturally fell on her father. The next day, Louise had left home. She had been very lucky in finding work, end, as the years passed, her anger and hatred lessen- ed. Now, five years later, she could look back more impersonally and see her own mistakes. She remembered now how kind he had been. Now, for the first time, she recalled the day he had given up a trip with his friends to take her to a birthday party. She remembered now, what an interest he had always taken in all her success- es and failures. S16 had long since realized,how unjust she had been re- garding her mother's de lh. She came out of her reveries to find herself at her destinations She still had a long walk before her, but she sta ted out brisk w How well she remembered every field, every house, every turn in the road. At last she saw the house before her. Running up to the door, she opened it and spoke. Father I Father 3 where are you? Then she saw him. He was sitting at his desk with his head on his arms. Louise ran to him and.lifted his head. As she did so, she noticed her letter, partly open, in.his hand. As she looked in his face she was startled. His face was white and his eyes staring. Suddenly, Louise remembered the meaning of that look. Once more she saw her mother as she had looked that night when father had returned. She calls ed the village doctor, and, after he had examined her father he said, WHe can't have been dead more than an hour or two. He must have died while reading that letter. WNQ, m'am,U The doctor shook his head. UHe wasn't reading that let- ter. He's been stone blind for three years.n

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THE AcAoE,MgL4.-N1-gg ,,,-V, F O R G I V E M E Ella Severance Spring had come at last. The sun beat down onto the fields with a warmth that assured the world that winter had entirely gone. The trees were beginning to bud and the grass, in places, was a refreshing green. Louise, however, was hardly a- ware of the sun or the trees or the spring. She was aware of only one thingy-her deep regret of the past. The train, speeding on and on through fields and cities, was car- rying Louise home. She had not been home since that day, nearly five years before, when she had left home in anger--anger born from mistrust and dislike, anger which gave birth to a deep and lasting hatred. As she sat by the window, gazing unseeingly into the spring morning she was reliving again and again scenes in her childhood which she had tried to forget. She knew, of course, that she could not forget them until she had reached her father and he had forgiven her. She had no doubt that he would for- give herg she remembered, now, that he always had when she was a child. So now she was going to him. She knew just how she would open the door, rush in, and impetuously run into his arms. She could make amends for all that had ,happened. She was certain that if she could Just see him and talk to him, everys thing would be all right. Of course, there had been that letter. Two weeks before, Louise had written to her father, telling him how her feelings had changed and saying that she was coming home She had received no answer. But then, she remembered how slow the mail delivery was way back in the country. He probably hadn't had a chance to answer. She was sure that her hatred of him hadn't been shared by him. He might have moved but, no, she knew he would rather die in that home than live 8.11959-'h6T6 else. No, he hadn't moved. Perhaps he was ill--but surely I sbmeone would have answered the letter. Although Louise tried not to think of the past, her mind return- ed once more to tracing the history of her life during the sixteen years she had lived with her father. As far back as she could remem- ber, she hadn't loved her father. She hadn't actually hated him, then, but she had never cared much for him. He had had such crazy ideas- or so they had seemed to her child- ish mind. For instance, there was the time she had wanted him to make over his work shop into a play house for her. He seldom used it, and he could have kept his tools in the barn. But he had refused. He had been kind, she had to admit, but, never- theless, he had refused. Her toth- er told her it was because his great great grandfathers had used it for a work shop 'hundreds of years ago, and it was like a legend in his family. Louise had been only five, and it seemed like a very poor excuse to her. Surely, he couldn't want his old work shop as badly as she wanted a play house and she knew he wou1dn't use it nearly as much. Then there were those nights af- ter she had started to school, that she wanted to go to one of the neighbor's houses and play with their little girl, but her father had always refused. What was worse, he had set her to work in the garden or hay field during the summer. She hadn't had to work hard, but she couldn't be playing. Her moth- er said he cculdn't get anyone to help him, and every bit Louise could do helped a great deal. Her mother had told her, too, that neither she nor Louise's father wanted Louise playing at the neigh- bor's because their little girl

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Dear Jim- by Jeanette Demers You and I grew up together. We were next door neighbors after I moved to the little town of Clear- dale. I guess it all started the day I fell into the river and you came to the rescue. We had such good times in those days before anyone ever thought there would be another war. Swimming, dancing, long walks, and bowling were Just a few of the many things we did to- gether. After high school you went on to college, and I got a Job. We didn't see each other again for four years. I hadn't forgotten though, and I don't believe you had either. Hbw proud I was at your graduation. You got a Job near the office where I worked, and we re- which by then newed our friendship had grown deeper and stronger. We planned to be married the following May but Fate intervened, and you went away. You enlisted the day after Pearl Harbor because you said that you wanted to help preserve the things you held sacred. It was then that we had our first real quarrel ,that left me in tears. I would not relent because I thought that the least you could do was to wait and be drafted, Now I see that I was terribly wrong. You went away with your faith in me ut- terly destroyed. But you fought hard, because that was the only thinn that could ease the ache in your heart. I didn't write because my pride wouldn't let me. I'll pro- bably never know the many dmos- you waited for mail that never came, and how you tried to smile and en- joy the bits from the letters that your buddies got from home. Oh yes, I kept busy while you were gone. First Aid classes, nur- ses aide, Red Cross work, and many other things occupied my hands, but they didn't occupy my thoughts which were on you continually. Yes, I've regretted a thousand times over the things I said during that quarrel. You tried to make me see it your way, but I refused to. Yesterday a telegram came. It was from your mother. I read these five simple words with sobs that tore the very heart from me. 'Jim is missing in action.n that froze my Five simple words heart within me. I cried the rest of the night, and now there is a feek ing of numbness and emptiness that comes with the realization that I'll probably never see you again. I don't know whether you're living or not, Jim, but somehow I feel that you know what I'm saying. Wherever you are, Jim, I want to say that I'm terribly sorry for what happened and, God willing, we'll meet again-won't we? M U D Arthur H. Fowler Here's to some mud in your eye, When I go recklessly by. Look at my Jeep: it's a mess I'll have to give it a bath, I guess. Here's some more mud in your eye. I'm waiting for the darn stuff to dry. If spring doesn't come pretty soon, I'll ride in the stuff till mid-June.