Plymouth High School - Pilgrim Yearbook (Plymouth, MA)

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30 THE PILGRIM every month, met the neighborhood gen- try. The family had owned the most land and possessed the most influence for so long that they were potential kings in their own domain. This glory of other times now hung in rags. James had never taken up his duties as squire with the small allowance from the in- come the will allowed-and never would. The room seemed to resent that, it hud- dled sullenly in its shadows and very reluctantly emerged as James's light sought it out as he advanced. Eddies of dust whirled vaguely after the disturbing feet. Clyde walked to the door that led into the hallway. He in- tended to go to the dining room where he would endeavor to build a fire, if there were any wood there. This room was too big, too full of memories. He didn't like it. The lightning flashed. A draught blew out his candle. Silhouetted in the open doorway down the hall stood a menacing figure, arm uplifted. The back of his scalp prickled and crawled. Cold sweat beaded his brow. His breath came with a painful, hoarse whistle. The light faded. Blackness rushed about him. He stood rooted with sud- den, unreasfoning terror that tore at his sanity. The world stood still. Wa- ter dripped from his cloak to his boots. He could hear it drop. Cold and damp- ness permeated him to the bone. At any moment he expected that avenging figure to rush at him from the darkness. His mind groped for reason telling him that this couldn't be true,-there were no avenging spirits. But his heart and soul screamed to him. The spirit of Robert demands retribution. You are going to die-die foully as he did! Realization came to him that in the very room in which he still stood, his brother had met him for the first time with the scales fallen from his eyes. James remembered everything he had striven to forget. He thought of him- self at twenty-two, a spoiled young man, pampered by an adoring, blind, older brother who saw in him only what he wished to see. Robert, weighted with responsibility, much older than James, delighted in giving James the pleasures that he never could have. Almost an invalid, neurotic and fearing death, he was suspicious and demanding of all save the brother he worshipped. Not even being sent down from Oxford with scandal that was the current gossip at- tached to him, persistent rumors of un- savory nature, his reputation as the gayest of young bucks, or enormous debts, could shake Robert from his de- lusions and dreams. He wanted James to sow his wild oats and return to set- tle down in the country with him. When he had started to exert gentle pressure on James to draw him from his pleasures, the young man resented it, drew back, and finally came into open rebellion. James remembered that fight- ing against gentle Robert was like punching a feather pillow-he was soft, easily hurt, but resilient. And then finally Robert had left the country and gone to London where he heard stories that had made him gasp and come hurrying back for James' denial - a denial that couldn't be convincingly given. In this room Robert had stormed and threatened, pleaded and cajoled, and under James' sullen silence had blazed into anger. James, his allowance cut off, had stood and listened and seen his soul stripped to its essential ugli- ness by a disillusioned, maddened man whose world had crumpled about his ears, to leave only dust and ashes in his mouth. And in James' resentful, hat- ing eyes had glowed and finally blazed -murder. Robert had not seen the terribleness of his brother's passion, and in the fol- lowing days had come to regard him as a wayward lamb. But he never could regain his old confidence and blind love for the man for whom he had had such hopes. And, unknown to James, he changed his will. He could not keep the money and lands from the rightful heir, but he had the power to keep him from squandering them, or so he thought. James had begun cold-bloodedly to plot to kill his brother. The last 'vestige of decency fell from him as he chafed under the sameness of each succeeding day and the absence of all that he had possessed--things for which he would sell his soul. And in the end he had heard the doctor announce the death of Robert, and knew that he had succeeded. He had known unholy joy and mentally blessed the poison that had given him the power to regain freedom. There had been no suspicion. Every- one was delightfully gullible, for in their minds such a deed as had been per- petrated could not be conceived of in one of the Clydes. James had rejoiced -until the will was read after Robert's ' s Continued on Page 32

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THE PILGRIM 29 THE FATES WILL ATTEND R-ESTLES'S flashes ofl lightning glowed in the sky and were quickly extin- guished as if by some unknown hand. A rising wind soughed through the trees and sent leaves whispering along the muddy road. The storm had momen- tarily ceased, but gave warning of strik- ing again with renewed vigor. A horseman, his mount slipping and sliding, came down the lonely lane, try- ing vainly to urge his foam-covered beast to a trot. A bolt of lightning cracked with earsplitting violence close at hand. The horse reared, his rider shouted, and was pitched headlong to earth. The rain came slashing down to lash with derisive whips the cursing man and the fast-disappearing mount. James Clyde, stupidly picking him- self up, futilely brushed wet mud from his clothes. The wind, hurrying the rain along, beat against his back to arouse him from his stupor. Gathering his cloak around him and recovering his hat, he hunched himself' against the storm and set off down the road. He had not gone far when water began to trickle down his neck. Growling and snarling, he clutched his cloak about his neck and slithered on. A coy little drop insinuated itself inside his boot. Its companion followed and soon more hastened to work for his discomfort. Wet autumn leaves passed their slimy fingers over his face, and branches reached out to seize him. Just like his brother to make a will keeping him waiting for ten years to inherit what was rightfully his, and then insert a clause forcing him to claim the house at midnight no later than September 8, 1838. Well, soon he would have no reason to regret this excursion. If that sniveling lawyer got there on time, James Clyde would soon be in a dry bed, and what is more, a rich man. What a time could be had with that money! A thousand parties like the one last night, he promised himself. In a concert of thunder and lightning he arrived at a dripping iron gate. In the weird illumination of the storm, he saw the house against the sky. He shiv- ered. The old place looked gloomy, like a fitting rendezvous for the ghosts that the village folk believed to inhabit it. Tugging and pulling at the gate, the new master of Clyde House struggled to enter his domain. At last he wrenched open the gate and in a fit of impatient anger slammed it shut and viciously kicked his inanimate tormentor. Def- initely out of breath, Clyde climbed the weed-grown drive to the house. The place oppressed him, heavy with knowl- edge and five centuries of combating the elements. It seemed to squat pro- tectingly over the surrounding land. The bars that its neurotic, previous owner had had placed over the windows gave it a distasteful prison-aspect. He reflected that James Clyde would have to be careful or he might find himself living in a prison, but not for long, not for long. Mounting the steps, he hesitated be- fore the heavy door. He shivered. What might be behind it? He frowned at his thoughts and muttered to himself, Don't be a fool, Jim, my boy. There's nothing there that can harm you. Ghosts make the very best caretakers. Inserting the key and forcing the rusty lock, he stepped into the house. A rush of dusty, damp air slapped his face. Heavy with the damp and neglect of years, the house was not a pleasant place. A gust of rain reminding him that it was drier inside than out, he entered and closed the door. Lighting a candle that he took from his pocket, he looked disgustedly about. He held the candle up. Revealed in the unmerciful light, his lined, red face and bloodshot eyes told of a young man prematurely old as the result of concentrated dissi- pation. Heavy layers of dust covered every- thing. The house was just as it had been when the body of his older brother had been borne from it to the grave. N-o one had had enough interest or thoughtfulness to have the house pre- pared after the disappointed heir had rushed from his brother's funeral, as drunk with the wine of new-found free- dom as he was to be so many times on more material spirits. The room lay under the heavy dust of years of waiting for life to come to it Once beautiful furniture once more. stood with mold on once-gleaming, satin-smooth wood, and rot working in- sidiously in beautiful brocade uphol- stery. Cracked paintings, rotting tap- estries, a small bronze draped in shroud- like cobwebs-all evidences of the ma- licious workings of time. This was the reception room that Robert had lavished so much money upon in order to sustain the elegance of the name of Clyde in its country-wide glory. Here for two cen- turies the Clydes had, on the first of

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THE PILGRIM . PILGRIM STAFF First Row: Audrey Dutton, Mary Bodell, Jean Whiting, Alba Martinelli, Elizabeth Ryan, Priscilla McCosh. Second Row: Elizabeth Belcher, Janet Clark, Lucy Mayo, Dorothy Perkins, Arlene Raymond. Third Row: Warren Bradford, Francis Schied, Alan Hey, Lois Brewster, Mrs. Raymond. HONOR GROUP First Row: Mrs. Raymond, Elizabeth Belcher, Alba Martinelli, Jean Whiting, Dorothy Perkins, Priscilla McCosh, Margaret Fox, Arlene- Dries. Second Row: Vincent Baretti, Lucy Mayo, Pauline Viau, Deane Beytes, Lawrence Goodwin, Katherine Christie, Dorothy Varxdini. W