The Catholic bulletin. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1911-1995, 1921-12-24


in sleep of brilliant ice.
Sheila O'Dare lived in that section
of the Island known as Centre Village.
She had been born in Brooklyn. but
her family had moved OUT when she
was stepping from chubby six to leaner
seven. Mr.. O'Dare, threatened with
tricky and dangerous disease, of the
lungs had sold his business in the city
and gone to the island of his fore
fathers to die. Instead, he had lived.
at first in establishment, and then most
strenuously, to a ripe old age. Sheila,
his only daughter, motherless at
fifteen, had been sent to her aunts in
Brooklyn for her education, had
entered hospital at twenty, had
graduated at twenty-three, and four
weeks after her graduation, had sailed
for France.
One year of heartbreaking, back
breaking labor in the still white wards
of pain had sufficed to send her home,
her inherited delicacy of constitution
threatened by a stubborn and racking
cough. She sailed for New York
shortly after the signing of the ARMS
tice, was met on the Greenport side
by her white-haired and sturdy old
parent. and on Shelter Island dock by
a delegation of women, men, children
and girls who had known her for
sixteen years. No young men; that
was oddly and sadly apparent.
Thanksgiving came in cold and
clear, and the morning after the fes-
tivity, Sheila's cough was much better;
she observed color in her thin cheeks
as she looked into the mirror and
massed her soft dark hair over her
forehead, above the great gray, black
lashed eyes. Her father was out when
she came down to breakfast, partner
ship in a thriving grocery business
keeping him busy from dawn till dark
of all working days. The morning was
very cold. but stoves, open freplaces
and double windows in the old frame
house, set in it's twenty acres of land,
kept the chill out and the warmth in.
At the breakfast table, Sheila, waited
upon by the old nurse who had long
since graduated to housekeeper and
who kept guard over the cook-by the
day, pondered what to do with her
self. Time lay heavily on her hands;
memory heavier upon her heart.
Presently, in a short skirt, a thick
white sweater and with a scarlet tam
pulled low over her eyes, Sheila went
walking.
She walked fast and we'll, rejoicing
the young blood through her veins. 1t
was with slight gasp of dismay that
she realized she was more than three
miles from home. She would stop al
the drug store, she decided, and tele.
phone Annie to ask her father to drive
in for her when he came home for the
midday meal.
Meantime, she was half way up a
hill and just ahead of her the little
church of Our Lady of the Isle lifted
it's golden cross to the cold blue sky.
Father Phillip was feeding the birds
Sheila saw him, tall spare figure in
black on the door step. She smiled as
she remembered how often she had
seen him engaged in that same gentle
occupation. Should she turn before
he had seen her? But she was toe
late. A hand flashed up from the black
sleeve, voice called her name and
Sheila went toward her old friend
with slightly dragging footsteps.
Arrived, she held out her hand fol
the warm well-known clasp of his and
| looked into the brilliant eyes set in q
lined and beautiful face.
Come in, Sheila,' said Father Phil
| lip, "and let me have look at You
I've hardly seen you, you know, since
the night we met you at the ferry
She followed him into the sacrists
and sat down, as he babe her, while
from his big chair at the desk he re
garded her a moment in silence.
Sheila spoke first There had beer
| no reproach in the welcome he had
accorded her, but something, some
thing very feminine, forced an ex
PLANTATION from her.
1--WE been ill, you know said
sheila, land my cough was rather
trying. That's why didn't get t.
church"
Father Phillip smiled.
.sYohr father told me, Sheila,'' sale
he, "but-was that the only reason
II -
my dear?'
Sheila hesitated. She had known
the priest so long, first in Brooklyn
where her parents had been of his
parish, later here in Shelter Island
She remembered her first communion
she remembered her mothers burial
she remembered the dreams she hat
| had Of standing before this little altar
once more yelled and all in white
while Father Phillip said the words
which would make life thing OF jog
and beauty for herself and Robert.
Sheila's eyes .brimmed. Then, witt
that kindly, piercing gaze upon her
she pulled herself together.
NO. she said, answering his last
question, snot altogether. or course