Summit School - Flame Yearbook (St Paul, MN)

Page 33 text:

SSW! f. 3 5 a ,A ,, .1 A ,,,.W, X 11 Mn- K' ,I awai- 9'1f,a.v v MQW

Page 32 text:

Y E It Changed Somehow HE snow lay in new, fresh layers on the unfrozen ground, and- the late fall leaves peeped bewilderedly from beneath this early prelude to winter. The smoke from the farm-house chimney curled like baby fingers around the snapping air. The cattle blew puffs of steam through their moist, frosty noses, and leaning their heads over the pasture fence, looked in soft-eyed annoyance at the premature scene around them. I steered the car up the narrow road and stopping at the unpainted door of the house, got out and commenced to drag a large box from the car. As I stood looking up at the window with this staggering weight, I saw a small, round face appear. Des- perately I signalled for someone to come and open the door, but the face remained there serenely, if stupidly, staring. I stood helpless and realized that a tall man was regarding me from the barn door. Languidly he straightened up and moved slowly, laughingly, toward me. 'QNeed any help, Miss? the man chuckled innocently, taking the box from me. Thank you, Elmer. Is Hazel bettcr?', Yeah, I guess so. Says her legs don't ache so bad today. That's wonderful. I have some things in here for her. Not very much, some woolens and shoes for the children and a few other thingsf' We had reached the door, and I held it open for Elmer before following him in. The living-room-kitchen held a pleasant, bare atmosphere, and the heady, yeasty smell of homemade bread flooded it warmly and blended harmoniously with the plain, mended curtains and cracked ceiling. Hazel sat in a stiff chair by the table, peeling potatoes into a deformed tin pan. Her face was pale, and she smiled with her mouth alone as she spoke to me in a quiet voice. Her swollen feet and ankles were encased in old woolen socks, and she moved them with obvious pain. Elmer put the box down, and a pleasant thrill stole over my heart as I saw her eyes light up. I recognized the feeling beneath her diHicult words of thanks and knew that she was grateful. The small face again appeared from behind a bedroom door and coaxed by a friendly smile, came out and ducked behind a large chair. From this mighty fortress it warmed to conversation and was soon grinning and chattering like a wary squirrel. The wood stove gave forth a sweet fragrant odor and lent cheer to the small room in a generous manner. The three-minute egg timer stood importantly desolate on-a rough board shelf, tilting its figure coquettishly at a one-armed alarm clock across the room. Nothing about this room was enviable, but everything smelled, stood, or was worn in a homey, comfortable way. A cold draft crept along the floor, eating up some of the pleasantness. Hazel's face became stern as she said, Elmer, the board below the back window must,ve come loose again. Why don't ya fix it?,' 'lOh, one of the kids can fix it when they git home, can't they? 'I gotta go out to the barn. S'long, Miss. Maybe we can use some of that stuff ya brought. The door banged insolently after him, and Hazel's large red hand picked up an- other potato and cut into it sharply with the wicked little knife. A shadow of meanness was in the room and cloaked everything in uneasiness. The small face was smaller and silent as it looked with averted baby eyes at the mother doing her work with a masked face, her emotions locked from habit deep within her heart. The bread and wood smell was becoming more distinct and had lost its warmth to mere odor. I had suddenly become an intruder, and I rose to leave. Haze1,s eyes looked at the box, then at meg and they thanked me again, wordlessly. ANDY HUNTER Form V 26 THE FLAME

Page 34 text:

Peace on Earih, Good Will to Men ARELY perceptible in the dusk of the approaching night and the blur of falling snow was the bent Hgure of a man shoveling. His immaculately erected white walls on either side clearly showed the curving outline of the driveway. His mechan- ical precision and rhythm were interrupted suddenly as he stopped, leaned heavily on his shovel, and scrutinized his work. Facing the wind, he was squint eyed while re- garding with swelling pride the two long, billowy mounds of snow. He drew a long breath of satisfaction and exhaled, watching the vaporous cloud mix with the white flakes and then disappear. There was no question about it. He had done a perfect job, and the job was finished. It had to be perfect for tonight. He turned and started climbing the hill, looking at the large house above him. Each flake that fell close to a window was transformed for one glorious second into a star-like diamond. From the big Christmas tree, which he had struggled to get through the door uninjured, the lights blinked their colored eyes at him through che ever-descending curtain of snowflakes. At the time he had softly cursed the tree for being so big, inaudibly sworn at the door for being so narrow, but now its good-na- tured winks coyly smiled and beckoned and teased him into mock cheerfulness. A slow smile crossed his face as he thought back to the happy Christmas mornings left far behind when his little ones toddled and ran about the cottage, searching for small trifles that Kris Kringlen had hidden in obscure places the night before. He heard again squeals of joy and childish giggles as they found the exciting gifts. Where were his children now? What had become of them in the face of foreign invasion? He must not think about it, but how could he help it? A thousand questions rushed into his mind, but with one great effort he blocked them out and hurried on up the hill. Arriving at the back of the house, he could see through a steamed window the blurred form of a young thing dressed in white, hustling about the kitchen preparing dinner. After the shovel had been desposited in its usual place, he closed the door of the tool shed securely. He felt a pang of hunger pierce his stomach, and he remembered he hadn't eaten since noon. Of course, that was what he needed. No man could feel normal if he dicln't get his food. Surely that was why he felt so queer. He must have a good Christmas Eve dinner for himself like the other folks. After a short, brisk walk at the edge of the icy highway, he arrived at the door of the tavern, pushed it open, and was greeted by a cloud of smoke, which eagerly poured out into the night. The noisy din of glasses clinking together, the jazz music of the puny orchestra, and the general buzz of conversation interrupted by a loud shout or laugh every few seconds stung his ears after the peace of the silent night. For a moment he was tempted to leave this place infested with the mirth and excitement of holiday celebrators, but his hunger prompted him to sit down to eat in the farthest corner from the crowd. As he slowly removed his heavy sheepskin coat, he noticed the hole under the right arm and the worn places in the fur. Soon he would save up and get a new one. So far the winter had been mild enough, but he knew by expe- rience that the worst was yet to come. He took out a pair of old-fashioned glasses from his back pocket and hung the loops over his large ears in one proud movement. Sitting very straight, he looked like a pompous major-domo reading an important proclamation as he thoughtfully studied each item on the menu. He was a different man from the heavily clothed, hard-working shoveler of an hour ago. The removal of his clumpy fur hat revealed a shock of light- colored, straight hair parted on the left side and neatly combed down with water. His face was that of an outdoor person, deeply creased about the mouth and forehead from weather-squinting and a ruddy, reddish brown in color. His blue eyes were small 28 THE FLAME I.