St Rose Academy - Yearbook (San Francisco, CA)

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-l----Q24 GOLD AND WHITE Of a sudden she was master of herself again, awakened by a crash and a scream. Vaguely she heard both. and some latent instinct within her made her struggle hard for consciousness and light, After what seemed endless ages of forgetfulness she groped her way to the door. She tugged at it, forgetting the lock, till the rusted latch gave way and she burst out into the evening coolness. Fresh breezes fanned her face and whipped the life blood through her veins again. She saw, then, the cause of the sound. A giant plane had crashed to the earth, crushing one wing to its side. She gazed in a kind of fascination at it. Crippled wings! So like this would her own have become if . . . She shud- dered, and stumbled over to the cockpit of the plane, The pilot-a mere lad-lay in an unconscious heap half out of it. The tears sprang to the eyes that had been dry for many a year. Once more there was something worth while to do. She carried the boy into the house, and laid him tenderly on the bed. ff if ak Three weeks later, Emily Marston sat contentedly sewing by a window. She had called him Boy ever since that first meeting. Now he opened his blue eyes slowly and looked at her. With a smile that lit up his whole face and hers, too, had she but known it, he whispered impulsively, Let's grow our wings together, Gran! She smiled tremulously. Had he read her heart? Her soul, released from its frozen bonds. seemed to go on sure, steady wings-soaring high above the surge of life, dipping and sailing among the white clouds, the rose-and- golden-sunset flames. is W ings By ESPERANZA RUELAS In the far-flung domains of thunder. Piercing the black-robed sky, The knights of the air greet the combat Shouting the eagle's war-cry. The silver-winged sons of Hermes Exult in their new-found power. Mother Earth has kept them by her But this is sire lVlercury's hour. The storm meets the fleet earth-children But retreats from their onward roar, Which rivals her age-old death cry And heralds a new-born war. The children of earth have conquered, They have tried their wings and won, With a flash of flying silver They have greeted the rising sun. Thirzy-two

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GOLD AND WHITE W ings By ELIZABETH HENNE MILY MARSTON gave the spade a quick, vicious shove into the sandy soil and brushed back the hair from her heated face. Then, half resentfully, half unconsciously, she gazed at the airplane which was circling above her in the clear sky. With a shrug and a sigh, she turned away from the sight that epitomized all the longing within her, and looked at her hands. Hard and calloused they were-just like she was-hard and calloused from almost half a century of work. She picked up the spade, and threw it down again. How she hated all this! Hated her hands, hated that barren garden, hated the lonely, empty shack, and above all, hated the sea which roared, mocking, at her day and night! Raising impotent flStS to the laughing waves, she ran down to the beach. Something within her shrieked hatred and rebellion to this merciless tyrant. Tight-locked within that shaggy breast the only two things she had ever loved lay sleeping-her husband and her son. It was a bitter, raw day when they came to tell her of that double tragedy. Both of them-her mate and her boy-had gone out gaily on the clipper, Emily M. Neither came back. The rough sea folk who brought her the news had tears streaming down their faces. She alone had remained dry-eyed. Dry-eyed-but something in the depths of her being-her very heart--had frozen-had become hard, and calloused, like her hands. She had, after all, asked so little of life-had received so much less! The past was over-it didn't matter much, any more-but the dreary future, the lonely days and nights-these hurt! Another airplane was droning overhead. She lifted her eyes-they were hard and bitter, too-and stared enviously after it. That was what she wanted! Wings!-To soar high above the surge of life, dipping and sailing among the white clouds, the rose and golden sunset flames. The sea came up and licked hungrily at her feet. She retreated a step, then advanced. After all these years of hating, she might yet derive some beneht from her relentless enemy. How delightful it would be to slip into the cold green embrace: to slink peacefully into those secret depths: to feel the cool pressure: take the fever from her brow: to remember, as her last thought, that the sea never releases its treasures! She stepped forward again, then suddenly jerked back. After all, she hated the sea too much-and who had ever heard of wings growing down there? Gazing half stupidly at her sodden feet, she trudged back to her cabin. A new idea had taken possession of her. She went into the kitchen, locked the doors and windows, and plugged the numerous holes and cracks. An evil genius had entered her heart. What was there ahead? Life's values had all gone. She would leave no message-no farewell. The world wasn't worth it. She felt herself drifting softly, slowly, onward. What should she do? The evil genius started in her bosom. Just then a soft humming and buzzing thrilled her ears. The sound of wings whirred past in the distance. Thirty-One

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--- --if GOLD AND WHITE It Was Ever Thus By LILLIAN ARATA T was a glorious spring afternoon and the dusty little mid-western town seemed to be basking drowsily in the warm sun. The main street was deserted except for a young girl who was slowly walking past the sleepy Stores. With head up, eyes directly ahead she walked, seemingly oblivious of all around her. At the end of the short street she turned and entered the dingy Post Office. 'Lo, Tom, she said carelessly to the boy at the desk, any mail for me? Oh, hello Pat! exclaimed the boy and his face lit up joyously at the sight of her. I think there is, let's see-Mrs. Williams, Mr. Peters-gosh, I'm sure I saw a letter here for you, he said, hastily running through the pile of mail at his elbow. Nope, I must have been wrong-there's none for you, Pat, he declared looking up at her with a boyish grin. Thanks, she murmured and turned to go. 'iOh I say, he called after her, wait a minute will you, if you're going home. I'm leaving now so I'll walk with you. That's if I may, he added, laughingly. She shrugged her shoulders indifferently but Tom apparently didn't notice this: he was too eagerly closing the store. Tom talked and laughed gaily as the two went along the country road, and Pat walked quietly by his side preoccupied and silent. They came to a grassy knoll deliciously green and shaded by a huge Sycamore tree. Tom hailed the knoll with delight and taking his companion by the hand he ex- claimed: Come on, Pat, here's our favorite spot, Let's sit down for awhile, Still indifferent, still careless, Pat flung herself on the soft grass, and Tom quickly followed suit. For a time they sat there in silence, Pat dreamily gazing at the sky, Tom just as dreamily gazing at her, S'matter Pat? he said at last. You seem rather gloomy today. Any- thing wrong? With a little gesture of despair Pat sighed heavily and turned her face toward his. I feel gloomy, she said, and I just can't help it. Oh, I'm so sick of this town. I hate it so. If I could only go somewhere else to live, any place, anywhere but here! and her eyes filled with hot resentful tears. Aw, Pat, said the boy and a troubled look came over his face, don't feel like that. Gosh, I think it's keen here. Anyway I wish you weren't downhearted, Come on, Pat, he urged, cheer up, please. cheer up and smile. I-le coaxed, he cajoled, he pleaded with her and at last Pat had to smile. You're funny, Tom, she said to him. Ever since I can remember you've been telling me to cheer up and you're so happy yourself you make me cheer up. Tom grinned delightfully, Yeh? Aw, I like to see you happy. Gee, when you smile you look keen, honestly you do-you look, well you look awfully nice, he iinished rather lamely, Pat ignored the compliment and rising lazily glanced at the watch on her wrist. It's getting late, Tom, she said, 'land I must go. You needn't come though. I'll take the short cut across the fields. Then she added generously, yet not too warmly, Come on over tomorrow afternoon, Tom. Thirty- three