St Joseph Academy - Jomara Yearbook (Yakima, WA)

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T H E A U R O R A Twenty-seven I started to descend the steep mountainside, but the hand of my escort stopped me. He pointed to a large group of souls far below us. There was one lagging behind, who seemed too faint to keep up with the crowd. As I gazed, she' turned her face towards me. Was it possible? Was that Marcella? The voice of Minos boomed out, She led in her studies on earth, but here, she will ever follow!!' My heart was as lead. I sat on a jagged rock, and buried my' face in.my. hands. Hark! What was that? I raised my head and listened. Some one was yelling in loud, harsh tones. I looked to my guide for explanation. That, said he, is Pauline Doan. During her lifetime she was too silent, too quiet. Now she is doomed to create noise. From midnight to morning, she sings, from morning to noon, she yells 5 from noon 'till night, she howls and cries. Just then, a running figure hove into sight. It was an old, old inan, bearing a scythe. His long gray hair was floating in the wind, a11d the banner 'round his neck was stream- ing behind him.. A second figure appeared in hot pursuit. Red hair, blue eyes-why, it was Urusula-chasing Father Time! Until the Day of Judgment, that shall be her penance, said the Grim Judge, for at school, she was ever making up time. I looked into the valley below me. Suddenly I spied a dancing, noisy, bustling crowd. They surrounded a pitious little spirit with hands clapped over her ears. Even at that distance, I recognized the long black hair of Lois Brandt. Poor Lois! She was suffering the penalty of her retiring nature. I My gaze wandered to the farthest corner of the valley. There I saw a peculiar sight. A thousand, nay, an hundred thousand chairs, enclosed by a wall of flames, were visible, row on row. But only one solitary soul was in sight. Silent and alone, that person must wait for the Day of Reckoning, possessed by a horror of being late for judgment. Tardiness ne'er goes unpunishedf' Minos paused. You do not recognize-? Not Angela Massoth? I gasped. Angela I Slowly, and with my eyes gazing into space, I again started down the rocky side of the Mountain of Cleansing. Before I could realize what was happening, I had come in violent contact with the earth. I looked behind me to see what had caused me to trip and fall. I beheld a literal labyrinth of bright pink ribbons stretched from rock to tree. and from tree to rock. In the midst, was a red-headed, unsmiling soul trying, in vain, to extricate herself from her purgatorial net. The harsh voice of Minos whipped her like a lash- Yvonne Dulude, such is your punishment for vain pride. As an earth creature you shunned pink as a leper 5 as a suffering soul, pink shall ever repose upon the red of your hair! ' . Minos beckoned, and once more, we hurried down the steep slope. As we passed a towering, cliff-like rock, I became aware of a peculiar sound. Tramp! Tramp! Tramp! Minos pointed to a cave-like opening in the side of the cliff. On the walls, protruding from the crevices, and suspended in the entrance, were pictures of S. J. A. In the midst of them, was someone pacing, pacing, pacing. I raised my voice and called, Leona! oh, Leona! A - She made not a sound, but kept on walking, walking, as though she had not heard me. When a Sophomore, said Minos, she was not satisfied with S. J. A., but left it to spend a school term in Seattle. Now, for all eternity, she shall pace in sight of S. J. A., and never, never, never, be able to enterits hallowed halls! In a few moments, we had again reached the Valley of Shadows. Soon we faced the wall of fire, and sought the fiery gate, through which we might pass into the Dens of Dark- ness. But someone was crouching in the gateway. A dull, monotonous voice droned- 1000-2000-3000- Who is that? I tremblingly asked my guide. Just then the figure raised her eyes to mine in an unseeing stare. Genevieve Fortier. Could it be?

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Twenty-six T H E A U R O R A nant, Elsie Koreski was leaping and jumping. The voice of David came from heaven, 'fFaster! Faster!,' , She danced her life away at S. J. A., spake my guide, now she must dance forever before the Ark of the Covenant. As I turned away, huge shadows appeared on the stone walls of the cave-like passage- way. In the midst, was a shadow of a tiny creature, striving, in vain, to keep apace with her companions. That, said Minos, is Frances Berg. On earth, she towered above every one, but here, she roams about with the Giants of Hades. Then, we came to a group which immediately attracted my attent-ion. Nearly a thousand chattering men were gathered about one person. Curiously, I wedged my way to the center. Horrors! It was Eleanor! Why, oh why, should she be punished like this, for I remembered, at school, she had no love for males. Because of her man-hating! whispered one of the group, in my ear. Sorrowfully, I continued on my journey through the dark and damp corridors. Sud- denly, a shrill, rasping voice reached my ears. A tiny spirit sat at a piano playing fur- iously. What is the matter? I stammered, as I recognized Agnes O'Malley. This, said Minos, is a justly-deserved punishment. On earth, she grudgingly studied her harmony, now, she is doomed ever to play on a red-hot piano, and never, never, to hear a sound. I was turning away when a running figure rudely knocked me down. Jean LaMay! I shouted, as I recognized the fleeing figure. What are you do- ing? Just then, around the corner of a smoking lane, a group of men-spirits darted, evidently in hot pursuit of my seemingly rude companion. Oh, Minos, why? 'fOn earth, yon spirit was too ardent in seeking the epitaph- 'Men-not man.' Now she is doomed forever to run from any man. My guide moved on. Tears welled into my eyes. Splash! Dripping with water, I rose from my tumble. I had fallen over a bucket of water. Humiliated, I looked around. Buckets of water were everywhere. In the corner, said Minos, you may behold Monaclaire. While living, she was smiling, smiling, ever smiling to gain favor. Here, she must shed forever, Tears of Penitencef' Heavens! I was drenched with poor Mona's tears! The air was very hot, and the humid atmosphere seemed unbearable. I hesitated to descend lower, but Mines did not stop and I feared to be left hebind. In the next circle I looked into the angry eyes of Alma Lang. She turned from me in disdain, and commenced once more to take up the task I had interrupted. Oh! Oh! I ran shrieking from her. She was embalming an Egyptian mummy-while great, snarling dogs crouched at her feet. Don't be foolish,', scolded my guide, a spirit can't hurt youf' But-but Alma was-was always so frightened whenever-whenever a dog came near her, and-and an undertaking parlor-even the outside of one-made her hair stand on end! That's why she's heref' Down we went to the next circle, and as I shaded my eyes from the glare of the sudden light, I heard the hissing and crackling of flames. I looked up. We were in an immense valley which was completely surrounded by walls of fire. I heard a sobbing, sighing sound, and looking in the direction from which it seemed to come, I discovered a figure, bent under the Weight of a heavy load. The sobbing creature was Ruth. Her eyes were dark and cavernous, her face pallid and emaciated. Why is she so withered and reduced? I managed to stammer. At school she never ate her mid-day lunch. Now she must wander. in the presence of delicious fruit and fresh, limpid water, and hunger and thirst for eternity.

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Twenty-eight T H E A U R O R A f'She is counting calories, Minos informed me, for she considered Cooking a bore- dom. 4000-5000-6000- As we reached the last circle I was so overcome that I felt sick and frightened. Shrieking, I groped my way through the damp, dark passages, while behind me, the Grim Judge laughed in hollow, mocking tones. Mother! Mother! I rushed on, passed the Warder, and through the grim menac- ing Portals of Purgatory. Mother! I rubbed my eyes, and sat up. Above me was a sky of wondrous blue, flecked with snow-white clouds. The golden sunbeams danced and flitted here and there. I raised my hand, and felt the soft cooling fragrance of apple blossoms. I was 'neath the old apple tree. ' Then the ever-sweet face of my Mother was framed in the doorway and I heard the soft, soothing tones of her voice, What is it, dear? I-I-why, I just wanted to tell you, Mother, that I will be right in to do the dishes. And the sunbeams followed. DOROTHY ERNSDORFF, '24. TO SISTER MARY LORETTA There is an infallible rule in every school that deals with books and teachers. To most grim students who lack wise prudence, school is by far above the par at she greatest comic in tragic features. The comedy is laughable, the tragedy is passable, the two combined, the scholars find, is-this we'll gladly mention-the last result of our teachers' cult, and our Superintendent's keen attention. For well we know that very oft when we feel inclined to take things easy, the Superintendent of our schools will just breeze in 'to enforce the rules. When, gently reclining at our ease, We waft the wasted minutes to the breeze, and breathe a low, contented sigh as we lay the waiting, pleading, school book by, we'll hear a light step on the stair, and sense the tension in the air, and whether welre merely curious, or really care, we'll ponder the startled question: Who can be there? And then before we can sit erect-we assure ourselves, just for effect-a smiling face peeps through the door, an enlivening spirit, and something more 3 two keen bright eyes detect our blank surprise, and as we strive, in vain, to comprehend, a soft, vibrating voice does a message send of new encouragement to every Class, and good advice for each school-girl lass g words of praise for work well done, a spirit of battle for merit, as yet, unwon. And through our weary school-girl brain there flashes this enlivening strain: Do not stare up the steps of success, but step up the stairs. Is there any influence- anywhere-so great as a visit from our Superintendent? And then in the presence which seemed so impendent, we found a blessing in disguise, for did We not merit by our sur- prise? Then rose every blue-eyed and brown-eyed, and grey-eyed bandetta, and chorused in glee, Good Afternoon, Sister Mary Loretta! ' DoRoTHY ERNSDORFF, '24.