The Washington times. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1902-1939, 1927-06-20
Shackled Souls
BY ELENORE MEHERIN.

Continued from First Page9
had imagined such holy. poetic
scenes as this. Now at Is. for
tbs first time. she looked upon
= river, upon a giant redwood
tree. upon a lofty mountain peak.
She was stirred to her innermost
spirit, She was quiveringly alive.
She wished to laugh. And often
she could have wept.
Even as a child Roen had these
deep, ardent emotions. And these.
because of the peculiar circum.
stances Of her very young years,
had been almost cruelty developed.
There were memories cut like
canoes in Rooms thought.
One was of a woman in flow
cred challis wrapper-an appeal
ing woman with lowered head
and curls brightly gold straying
at her neck. She stood at
door. Turing and expectant. "A
man who was very gay leaned
down and kissed the curls. This
was what the woman wanted.
She smiled softly. They were
very happy.
After q while the woman no
longer waited on the threshold.
The man no longer laughed. This
picture gave place to another.
The woman lay on couch. the
man knelt with his arms flung
around her waist. Now when he
kissed her neck he hid his face
there. Tears rushed to his eyes.
He wanted her so. and he feared
be was going to lose her.
Her Idols
Roen, who was just nine, used
to watch. These two beings
moved in a shadowy. mysterious
charm. They were Dearie and
Bobby dad, her mother and father.
She wondered about them and
worshiped.
One day she came from school.
A big, fat-faced woman opened
the kitchen door and said:
'Shshsh!' Then she stopped
down. her corsets creaking, and
whispered: you have q little
brother"
Roen stood perfectly still while
these words went tinkling like
Christmas bells in her thought.
This was the gladdest OF the
memories. They had the little
brother.
Afterwards Dearie used to lie
on the couch. Her. hands were
white and thin. But she was
awfully proud. And liked 1t when
Bobby-dad hid his face in her
palms, when he said as though
his heart were breaking, "Oh my
dearest, dearest"
Roen held herself very tight
when she came upon them so. She
would move softly into the gay,
amber shadows about the old
chintz drapes. Her heart grew
large. She loved them both ter
ribly-so much more than they
guessed, with the silence and
yearning Of childhood.
Don't Cry"
It was only a small house where
they lived. But they had two won.
drous pictures that an artist
friend had painted. One was
called Morning Light" 1t showed
fishermen putting out to a misty
lavender. There, too, were the
rich old chintzes. And always a
flower in the vase.
! Ever since Jackie was born they
ate here. They pushed the table
to Dearie's couch.
Roen picked nasturtiums on big.
Rplashy stems. This was the way
Dearie liked them. When the
table was set, she would say:
Bring me purple pansies and
she would tuck these in the bright
hair and look pale and thrilling
as an angel for Bobby-lad. Roe1
waited for the warm, adoring flush
to deepen her fathers eyes. Young
as she was, she felt a radiant
sweetness. There grew, subcon-
sciously in her thought, the dream
of great, unselfish love.
One day, when she was thirteen,
everything changed. Maggie, the
fat-faced, came to her. walking
mysteriously. Your father wants
you. Now-whatever you do,
don't cryw
This was the sharpest Of her
memories cut deep in incompre.
hensible pain.
Her father had been in bed for
a week. They said he had cold.
Roen had not been allowed to see
him. Once she had stolen to his
door and had been frightened by
the loud, grating sound Of his
breathing.
She followed Maggie reluctantly,
They tiptoed across the living
room where Dearie lay face down.