St Louis Academy - Academic Log Yearbook (Chicago, IL)

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s st wtlfxfus:axeL1Iuuuanuuuumnulumens:-as 'P L li A N 1 N G S 235-Z'i9IHl!lllllllllllllllllllllllIllill!2?fEL'Df'-T'P if e Helen always paced the floor when things went wrong. She walked now with a more jerky step than I had ever seen-up and down, up and down, until I thought the very boards cried out in protest. Suddenly she stopped before the picture of an old French Abbey where we had gone together one day while we were in France. Our hearts were heavy that day. I wondered if Helen remembered. We met a kindly old Monk there who heard our confessions, and with absolution poured into our souls, that God-given consolation which must be a fore-taste of Heaven. VVhen we were leaving, he handed Helen a beautiful colored card on which was pictured a cell-the rough wood bed, the bare wall, a pale, pathetic Christ on a hand hewn Cross, and over the cell doors the words that the good Father told us had steeled the heart of many a disconsolate novice: In a little while, F.ternity.', No matter how hard the task, he said, how heavy the cross, cannot one bear it 'for a little while'? There was only one card. Helen begged me to take it. You will need its inspiration more than I, she said, laughingly, and because I so adored her, I agreed and took it. Now, the charm of that day, the consolation we received, the help we were given to carry on when every fibre cried out against it-these memories came back with new and greater emphasis. Dear Lord, I breathed, watching the change so perceptible in her face. I have done all I can, won't you please do the rest? A few moments later, the clock struck four. Four hours of the new year gone and in a little while-Eternity. Helen yawned. I.et's go to bed, she said, you can scold me some more in the morningf, In the morning, I laughed, and went after her, as I had always doneg but this once, not in the spirit of surrender. We tramped to Mass through the blinding snow that had been falling all night. I sat beside her in the pew, praying, hoping, thinking, wondering. She prayed better than I long and earnestly, with her head bent so low and her slim, lovely body so that once I stooped to listen. When she hnally raised her head, her eyes were bluer because of tears. There was about her then something of the old Helen that I once had known. She left me after breakfast, promising nothing, but taking with her the picture of the old abbey-cell. - Some days later her letter came, as I knew it would. I do not know how to explain it, she wrote. Something in the picture, something in the memories it stirred, something of that old spirit of sacrifice that took us through those terrible days in France, or perhaps--and I guess, after all, it is really this-something in your prayers, in the pleading face of that pictured Christ, in the thought of those words, 'In a little while-Eternity'. The little while may mean many long, hard years, but I am not going to count their length. I am only going to ask for help for each day, even if I do have to 'live through' with every fibre of my broken heart, crying out against it. You will continue to pray, I know, and when the pain eases, as I know it shall, 'in a little while,' I will write to you again. I folded her letter close to my heart. ' And perhaps- , 1 added my grateful reflections to those it contained. I never saw Helen after that memorable New Year's Day. She had earned for herself the merits of a long life of suffering indeed in a little while. Three months had barely passed when I was summoned to her deathbed. I wonder if you would not like to have this again, said an oddly familiar voice, as we left the cemetery the day of her funeral. She prized it highly and 53 1 E d -Y. Q-5921IIIIIIEIIIEIIIIIlllllllllllllllllllllllIIlllllllIIlllllllIIllIIlllllllllllllllllIIllllIlllllllhlllllllllllllllllllllllllllllillIlllllllllllllIIIIIIIllllllllllllllllillllillIll' i itil'-tif Q 2

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.Q .v I IN A LITTLE WHILE 'Helen and I were dining together on the last night of the old year as we had done on the last night of every year since we had known each other's friendship, You remember Dr. Meadows, she suggested timidly, toying with her fork. And you remember that I never liked himf' I replied more boldly than I thought I could, for I knew that it was hurting her. Inwardly I trembled and I am sorr she said very sorr . , 1 . Y Because doesn't tell me, Helen, and we have never taken so long to tell each I have promised to marry himf' she said so calmly that I was frightened. For a long time, there was silence, an eternity of silence out of which ghastly visions stared. I struggled desperately against the temptation to be sorry for myself at losing Helen, but the sickening sensation that this news brought was not born of a selfish motive. The heart was more deeply seated. This golden-hearted girl, with her high ideals, her supermoral standards, her priceless Faith, was bartering her life for less than a penny. The man of whom she spoke shared none of these things. He could not, or would not, understand the motives that actuated them. He scoffed, she confessed later-and a real friend can be very frank in confessing-at that which she held dearer than life itself, and yet-she promised to marry him. Why, Helen, I said, when I could finally manage words, you did not care for Dr. Meadows out there in France. I hoped that she would not detect the But he always cared for me, she protested feebly. - Yes, I remember that he did, and to my mind it was his only redeeming The thought of Dr. Meadows in the Riviera was not so inspiring. I remembered him especially the night the poor soldier and the nurse were Hung to death over the embankment, and I wondered how Helen could forget, or how she could care But perhaps she was not thinking of Dr. Meadows that night in France. Lovely Helen, watching the old year die beneath a chill, December sky and calling life treacherous. Then pledging our friendship that we might come to- gether once a year to tell each other the things we had, the things we hoped to do. Surely there must be something in such a friendship as this, that could help her We postponed our theatre engagement that we might have more time for talking. She was to leave me early the next day. Only what was left of this night was mine. Very tenderly, at first, I pleaded with her: then I urged, then brought my logic on familiar grounds. The night grew into early morning, and second after second and second after second dragged wearily, without the least The story of my brother, whose life had been wrecked by an unfortunate mar- riage, was well known to her. I told it to her again, without avail. We had seen a score of war-time wives and husbands cast aside, like so many unwanted play- things, and in nearly every case because a Catholic conscience and a conscienceless , 52A l I z. -'il'-Q' 'F 5 fs ,- and there had been five of them. . V:: l: I felt what was coming. - And why? I asked. f Becausei-, I other things before. -1 tears in my voice. Z virtue. : for a man who was so inhuman. 5 now. - 3 sign of victory. tie had failed to bind. F 5 QE ig - I 'LXQEESl11IIIiIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEIEQSSZSE. ll I. E A N I N G S fESP-Zi-ifHIEIIIIllllllllllllIIIIIIIIIIIIJIEHEWZZ--'?-'iiffzfeb T' a u V . 51V629054.16-Y.'arQirislIliIlilllliIIlllllllIlllllllllllllllllllllllllllIIIIIIIllIIlllllllllllllIIIIIIIIIIIIllllllllIlllIIIIlllllllllIlllllllllllllllllIIIlllllllllllllllllIIlllllllllIllllllillllilllll! ,Mel-M. .frZf-P2522 ,K ,

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new fe 'f' 'H -1 fr fm , 1, , 5 X --1' -'QXWEIEQSEIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEIEFil-iii G L ld A N I N G S ?Ii'I'-iiiilillllllIllIIIIIIIIIIIIIlIIlI!i!iEE2'Df'''P ff 6 asked me to return it to you and to tell you you will never know how you have helped her. I b This was surely not the Doctor Meadows I had known in France-an unbearable egotistg a foolish atheist. There was a touch of kindness in the voice of this man. I wondered how new, how sudden, how short was this miracle of grace, for as we rode home together, through a long hour of agony, he told me of it: I have had strange dreams about Helen, he said. At first, I could not believe that it was just a question of Faith. But now, I understand, and I am praying for more of this glorious gift for which she lived so nobly. And again it is New Yearls eve. From its familiar place above my mantel-shelf the magic picture keeps watch with me as the old year dies. Exceptfor that, I am alone, but there is a great, new happiness in my heart. The day's mail has just brought me word that another laborer has asked to be given one little part in the work of Christ's Vineyard. The man whom I knew as an egotist, an atheist, a surgeon of worldly renown has stripped himself of all this that he might better follow the example of a brave girl. I wonder what are his thoughts tonight as he kneels alone in his cloister cell, with its rough wood bed, its bare wall, save for the image of a pale, pathetic Christ on a hand-hewn cross, and over his door the words: In a little while- Eternity. 77 VICTORIA WOJNOWSKI, '26. A A 0 4 6 54 e u ti bc: 4 zzav.-1-19-pfzglllll smlilllIlllllllllllllllllllllllllllullllIllullllnulllmllllllllmlllllllllllllllllllllllllllllIllllllmlllmllllnlmllnullllmllllllllllllllllllezlllnmlleve:-f.-nf 1- .1 .-. 13 , I -5. Q I: , -wh, W I a 1 E. wg, - , .f- r ....i, .-' '..-Q f J isa'