Trivoli Community High School - Memoir Yearbook (Trivoli, IL)

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. -------- Hive ------- took in the form of her body from the top of her shiny head to the tip of her toes. Yes, she was beautiful. Oh, God! how could he give her up. It could not be lf' Father, said the quiet voice, a brother of Blue Ridge wants ye. Marquis arose and went with his daughter to the home of the artists. Blue Ridge was a small settlement in Auden, France, where only artists lived. Located in sort of a valley, surrounded by mountains, clothed with green, fields, it shone forth as one of the most loveliest places in the southern part of France. Joan enjoyed herself by watch- ing the artists, whom she called her brothers, paint. And in the late afternoon, when her father and she entered Blue Ridge, she cried with joy, Oh father, I feel zat if I leave this beautiful home, I should die of grief. Oh, zat eet means so much to me. Marquis went to help his fellow artist who had torn his canvas and needed help to put it up again. All the time Marquis was working, he was wondering what he should do. At last he made up his mind. There had been a rich trader from Australia there today to see his picture. He was childless and had taken a liking to Joan. Yes, he knew a way out of it. Joan, his daughter, would be saved. Father, eet es time to go. Ze sun is setting in ze west and ze Helds are getting darker with shadows. All right, my Joan, we go. Over the green fields, hand in hand, went the two silent figures. God had been good to them to let them live in such a beautiful home. At last Marquis broke the silence, 'tJoan, a trader by the name of Luzon was here today to see about my picture. He said it was no good and consequently I have no money to keep us. He liked you and as he is childless, I am going to ask him to adopt you. God knows how hard it is, but there is nothing else to do. You are ignorant of the ways of the world and you have no work here. I cannot keep you. Joan looked at her father through eyes that were blind with tears. She realized the situation, yet, she could not think of giving up the only home which she had ever known. Her mother had died when she was born, therefore she was left with her father, who having tried to bear his sorrow alone, moved into this little secluded spot, Auden. At last she mastered her emotions, and looking into the face of the one she loved so well, she answered, Oh, M'dieu, M'dieu, not zat. Oh God. not zat. I cannot leave you and my dear brothers. Eet ez impossible. Daughter, it is the way of the world. What can I do? You know I have no money. His head fell on her shoulders. By this time they had reached home and as Joan pushed open the door, she made up her mind that she would go. As her father sat on the porch smoking, she pushed the foot stool up and sat down at his Page Forty-seven

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------ --aa ---------- - The Star Spangled Banner, and of Sherman, and I chant Glory to His Name. Again I See Just as the Sun Goes Down, a Shy Little Maid who cries Oh Yankee Doodle Boy, My Heart's in the Highlands Where the Silvery Colorado Wends It's Way, and I'm Afraid tofGo Home in the Dark. I glance into her Goo Goo Eyes and ask, Won't You Let Me Take You Home to your home in Teepee Land? Swiftly we make the 'Trip to Niagara and there's Music in the Air,' as we near her Home, Sweet Home. A squaw called Rainbow Opens the Door for the Children and cries Where Did You Get That Girl? I answered Where I Left The Boys in Blue with the Last Rose of Summer. Blue Beads sleeps 'AE-eneath the Weeping Wil- low in Six Feet of Earth and I think of School Days and wend to Sunny Tennessee, but Tramp, Tramp comes the postman and On This Letter From Home, Sweet Home brings A Flower from My Angel Mother's Grave. My heart sinks as the Titanic and my hand shakes as I write 1'll Leave Dixie, Darling, In the Springtime I'll Be With You Maggie, Dear. If I Only had a Home, Sweet Home in f'America with you, for You're Just Like the Girl That Married Dear Old Dad. Fd Love to Live in Loveland With a Girl Like You. Remember, Daisies Won't Tell. And now I ponder o'er the time When You and I Were Young, Maggie, as we stepped to the music of Orange Blossoms , yet I'm happy with Just a Little Rocking Chair and You. And while in this reverie I seem to hear a Still Small Voice floating o'er the Ocean Wave, saying, Hreaee, Be Still, and I answered from within Tell Mother I'll Be There. , V. P H.. Class '24. The Queen of the Artists Marquis sat with his head on the little table by his side. He had been trying to paint a picture of the Ideal American, to get money which would help support his twelve-year-old daughter, Joan, Grow- ing tired of his task, he had fallen asleep, dreaming of a beautiful home, his daughter and her education. Suddenly a quiet, soft voice awoke him by whispering softly in his ear, It is wonderful, father, eet ez won- derfulf' Marquis raised his tired, worn and haggard face toward heaven and then his eyes fell on his beautiful daughter's face. Her eyes were like black pools, her complexion was as clear as a crystal, and her cheeks looked like half blown roses. Around her shapely head soft, iiuffy brown curls coiled like serpents around the innocent. His eyes Page Forty-six

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feet. Her head rested on his knees as it had ever since she could re- member. At last she raised her face to his, saying, Father, I go, I go. The next day Marquis went to see the trader, who still remained in the village, and told him of his plans. The trader was delighted. Oh, M'dieu, M'dieu, he replied, I have always loved your daughter, and my wife, she will be delighted. His black eyes sparkled as he gave this last speech. They, this couple, were to have a child whom they could call their own. I will come for her tomorrow, and then we will depart for the city. Au revoir. Joan heard from her father what the trader had said, and so be- gan her packing. Awaiting the sound of the motor, her eyes wandered over the fields which she loved so well. Her thoughts were interrupted by the soft purr of a limousine, as it stopped in front of the French abode. Mr. Luzon came to the gate and tipped his hat, Are you ready, my dear? A faint yes came from the lips of the little French maid. Father, Father! I go! I go ! she murmured. Yes, my dear, you go. But always remember that you have a fa- ther who loves you better than gold, and wear the locket out of which peeps the face of your darling mother. Bon soir, Ma Cherie. Joan dared not look back and when she entered the car, her head fell on her arm. Mr. Cuzon was very nice to her and told her of all the things he had seen on his travels, but Joan heard not. They reachn ed the port about seven o'clock that evening and the next morning at nine they sailed for Australia. Joan never forgot the day she arrived in Sydney. Mrs. Cuzon, a very pleasing lady with soft blue eyes and yellow hair, met her with such a greeting that .Ioan's heart went out to her at once. Six years passed and Joan has never been what you would really call happy. Mrs. Cuzon saw this, and gave parties and had all sorts of amusements to make her happy, but Joan only longed the more for her quiet little home and her father. One day she told her foster mother that she was going to ride on her pet horse, Topsey, out into the country. But her mind was made up. She would not stay in the noisy city when her heart told her she belonged with the ones she loved. Remember- ing her father's last words, she took the locket which was around her neck and looked upon the face of her saintly mother. Was she doing right? Yes! Her heart told her so. Joan traveled on ,not knowing where she was going until at last, when she realized the sun was set- ting, she found herself in a small valley among the mountains. Hunt- ing for a place to spend the night, she at last found a spot protected by a high cliff. She had taken a blanket and a small package of food. At last she tied her horse to a tree, spread her blanket on the ground, and then lay down to rest. In the morning she awoke to find herself very stiff from laying on the ground. Joan ate a small lunch, enough to Page Forty-eight