Chapter Four The Picnic

Monday, May 22, 1916 In Reno County, Kansas it was only now breaking day. An hour or so earlier the molten sun had risen out of the Atlantic Ocean like a ball of red glass. But here on the Holmes farm, the air still carried a bluish tint to it as dawn stretched over the eastern horizon. A light breeze blew across the prairie, swelling the flower sack curtains out from the window in Bill Holmes bedroom, causing them to tremble open. Had he looked out at that moment, he would have caught the ghostlike form of a coyote trotting back to its den on the low ridge that ran behind the house. In the ancient cottonwoods that surrounded the house, mourning doves called back and forth to each other. In the distance, the cawing of a crow announced carrion on the dusty rural road leading into town.

The prairie was awakening. Bill opened his eyes. He could hear the downstairs wall clock chiming the hour, then the sound of Josie moving about the kitchen stove. He heard her pumping water for the coffee potlistened to the sound of her hatchet splitting logs into kindling, the clink of wood against wood as she dropped it into the cook stove and started the first fire of the day. Soon the odor of fresh side sizzling on the griddle and the heady fragrance of a pot of boiled coffee drifted up the stairs and fell on Bills nose. Itll be buckwheat cakes for sure, he thought and unfolded out of bed. After throwing on his bibs and lacing up his work boots, he stuck his head into the boys room. Hey, you termites!Time to get up. Come on now. Rise n shine! The boys grumbled. Bill was not their daddy, but Daddy would not be home for several more weeks when the threshing crew came to Langdon for the harvest here. In the meantime, Bill was the man of the house, and they knew not to buck his goads. Besides, he was their best friend in too many ways to count. When he entered the kitchen, the aromas that had wafted up the stairs assailed Bills nose. Batter bubbling on the cast iron griddle smelled sweet and sour at once, but the sugar-cured smell of bacon fat in the skillet on the other side of the stove almost overpowered the more delicate smells of the pancakes. Bill glanced at the flapjacks and crispy strips in the platter alongside the stove and eyed his mother, preoccupied at the sink, back turned. Like a hawk descending on helpless prey, he folded the top pancake over three strips of bacon and had a bite in his mouth when Josie turned and caught him in his morning larceny. As she stood there, mouth agape, he found her half-filled cup of

coffee on the table and gulped it, washing down the evidence of his first bite, never breaking eye contact with his mother, who started to sputter as he made for the door. William G. Holmes! You come back here and finish your breakfast proper. Youre not too big for me to tan your hide! Speck and Badger entered the room and exchanged knowing glances at each other. They had heard all this before. Sure, Mama, he said, kissed her on the tip of her nose and squired her around the kitchen as in a dance. Stop! she scolded and tried to pull away from his grasp. But anybody with a lick of sense could see that this irreverent man-child was her favorite. Bill grabbed a couple of cold biscuits left over from last nights supper and flew out the kitchen screen door and then was gone. Josie sighed, pushed a few strands of hair back in place and returned to the table with a light smile on her lips. A second later, however, her face took on the look of undisputed matriarch of the Holmes farm as she directed her attention to her youngest boys. Gwan now. And quit your snickerin. You got loads a chores to do. No sooner had the sun crested over the eastern horizon than the temperature went from the overnight low of 65 degrees to 80. The early morning breezes quickly evaporated the moisture in the air, but provided little relief as the thermometer climbed. Bill headed for the tack room in the barn, where he pulled a bridle off the wall, found an empty bucket, and threw in a scoop of oats from the feed bunk. A yellowed copy of the Hutchinson News Herald lay on the bench. Bills eyes passed over a headline and story about Kaiser Wilhelm of Germany honoring his Armys Chief of Staff,

Helmuth von Moltke, over the success of something called the Schlieffen Plan. Europe seemed far too distant to be of any concern to Americans, let alone a farm boy in the middle of Kansas. Europes squabbles were her own. None of our damned business, he thought. Eight hundred miles away on another small farm outside the town of Little Falls, Minnesota, a fourteen-year-old boy by the name of Charles Lindbergh ate his oatmeal while he read a book on aviation that his mother had brought home from the General Store in town. In another decade Lucky Lindy would demonstrate once and for all the closeness of the two great continents when he would fly solo across the Atlantic Ocean. This morning, Bills major concern was not international politics, but rather how to entice a stubborn old horse to bridle. He did not know that Europes ambassadors had met with their prime ministers behind closed doors to try to find ways to silence the rolling cadence of the drums of war. Bill only wanted to slip onto the back of Blaze and bring the cows in for milking. Bill and Blaze played out this dance every morning. It didnt occur to Bill that he and Blaze represented countless other farm boys and draft animals. Nor could he have guessed that he and millions of other young men like him might soon enough be drawn into the maelstrom of war. For now, he heard only the meadowlarks trilling on the split rail fence surrounding the pasture. Not until this years county fair would he thrill to the barn-storming biplanes piloted by boys not much older than himself. Instinctively he would duck like everyone else in the crowd as the planes roared over the fairgrounds, doing snap rolls, heartstopping stalls and crowd-pleasing barrel rolls. He unlatched the gate and with bucket and bridle in hand, headed up the wagon road toward the north pasture to call the horse. He

felt alive, vibrant, pleased with himself and the day. He stopped, drew in a lungful of fresh morning air. Not one to dally when faced with farm chores, he nevertheless found himself marveling at the mingled fragrance of clover blossoms and the heady, pungent odor of fresh-cut alfalfa wafting over him from a nearby field. Rattling the bridle against the feed bucket again, he continued up the draw towards Blaze, who gazed down at him with a look of disdain. Blaze scented the rolled oats. Took a few cautious steps towards his tormentor. Bill walked alongside the fence row, following the path the cattle made when they came in for milking. Skip ran alongside and then ahead, stopping to sniff out some interesting scent or to mark a clump of weeds or grass. The air was fresh and clean and sweet, though, and Bill felt elated. The only sounds came from birds singing in the trees down the hill where the water ran off the fields and stood here and there in marshes until they dried up later in the summer. Bill turned off the path and headed downhill. He stopped in the shadow of a cottonwood tree at the bottom, unbuttoned his fly and made water at the trees base, directing his flow between two craggy roots that held the tree in the ground like talons. A rivulet ran a foot or so before soaking into the dry ground, dissipating quickly between the exposed roots. A black bull snake slid into a tall growth of reeds a few yards down further towards the pasture. Fastening his pants, Bill walked on into the draw. It would be a holiday todaya picnic celebrating the last day of school at JordanSprings. There would be a horseshoe tournament before noon, a covered dish dinner, sack races for the children and, finally, a

baseball game before returning home for evening chores. The baseball game piqued his interest more than anything else. Skip picked up the scent of a jackrabbit and charged at a growth of buffalo grass maybe twenty yards or so ahead. The rabbit jumped out of the grass and ran for his life. Bill called out, Get im, Skip! and the dog gave chase. Responding to this encouragement, Skip stretched out each lope, jumping over grass and weeds and snares. A shepherd and border collie mix, Skip was a formidable threat to anything that would give chase, as the hare discovered right off the bat. Even with its sudden changes in direction, its patented jukes and feints, it could not shake its pursuer. Skip stuck like glue on the tail of his quarry. The jackrabbit put on more speed, faster than Bill would drive on a good road, but could not best the eager dog. By the time the pair had reached a rise on the opposite side of the draw, Skip ran abreast with the rabbit. He snapped and caught the hare behind its ears, clamping down hard over its shoulders, skidding to a halt. The dog let up some as he shook the rabbit to the right and left; then he threw the jack back over his right shoulder. The rabbit, far from dead, hit the ground and began running drunkenly again in the same movement. The dog turned and kicked up dirt, taking off again and caught the rabbit much more quickly this time. Grabbing the hare by the neck, he shook it again and again, this time breaking the animals neck so that the body hung like one of Josies sock puppets, limply from side to side. Then Skip sat back in the short pasture grass, put his front paws on the rabbits body and tore at its skin with his long canine teeth. Bill knew he would not see Skip again until after the dog had finished his breakfast. While Skip dismembered his prey, legions

of barn swallows glided over the prairie, snatching insects a few inches off the ground like barnstorming pilots plucking handkerchiefs from a pole thrust into the air. Heading up the draw, Bill rattled the bridle against the side of the bucket of oats. Blaze stood better than a hundred yards away, further up the meadow, pastured at the edge of retirement. Blaze would have preferred to spend the rest of his days grazing and basking in the Kansas sun. Maybe a flake or two of alfalfa. Or if the equine gods felt particularly beneficent, a mare in heat would make a pleasant diversion. Or else he would prefer just to be left in peace. And that meant NO WORK! Course, Bill had a different notion. Drawing ever closer, the man now shook the bucket, arresting Blaze with that intriguing sound usually associated with feeding. When Blaze heard Bills approach, his head turned towards the man and his ears cocked towards the sound. Blaze turned away, trying to look nonchalant, but sensed what his master expected. Then he looked back, intuiting the buckets contents in much the same way that Speck and Badger understood the natural inducement of their mothers oatmeal raisin cookies. Blaze knew what was going on, alright. He hadnt been foaled yesterday. He could hear Bill clattering the bridle against the feed bucket. Foam stained green by the grass he had been croppingdripped from his mouth and fell to the ground at his forelocks. His muscles tensed and Blaze feigned an air of idle interest, but stood ready to put as much distance as possible between him and Bill. But at the last moment, he hesitated. Whats in that bucket? he wondered. Oats from the feed bunk in the corral?Or was it a trick to take advantage of an old horse? He could not decide. By now Bill had drawn so close that the fragrance of rolled oats floated into Blazes

quivering nostrils. All was lost. The horse swatted its tail back and forth against its rear end and walked, not too fast, towards the man. Tentatively, with studied hesitancy, the two moved closer to each other. A moment later, an agreement was struck. Blaze would get his oats and Bill would slip the bridle over his head. When they met, Bill reached out and stroked the horses withers, his quivering mouth and face. A white streak down the long head stood out against the claret-colored coat that defined the rest of his body, except for white ankle socks above all but his left rear hoof. The horse pulled his head up and away and made for the bucket of oats, but Bill held the bucket back until he could loop the bridle over the horses head and insert the bit into its mouth. With the bridle in place, Bill put the bucket of oats on the ground and Blaze stretched his neck down and ate with undisguised gusto. While Blaze ate, Bill reached in the front pocket of his bib overalls and pulled out a tin of tobacco, flipping the hinged lid open with his thumb. The lid bounced against the back side. He pulled a single leaf of paper from the center of a wrapper, folded the paper lengthwise, filled it with loose tobacco and rolled a cigarette between his thumbs and forefingers and put it whole into the corner of his mouth. He struck a wooden match on the heel of his boot and lit the cigarette. The end caught fire unevenly, glowing orange and yellow. He took a deep drag and exhaled quickly. The smoke rose and caught the light breeze. Holding the cigarette in the corner of his mouth, Bill positioned the reins over the top of Blazes neck and picked up the bucket. With the pail extended at arms length across the horses withers, he jumped belly first onto Blazes back. Blaze shuffled at first, adjusting to the load, then stood still as Bill pulled his right leg up over the horses

tail end. The two became one as Bill threw himself over the horses broad back. He wrapped his left arm under the horses neck until he completed his mount. Once astride the horse, Bill stroked its neck affectionately and made a kissing sound, hoisted himself into a sitting position and started out in pursuit of the milk cows. Responding to the sound, the horse clopped out slowly, heading further down the pasture to where the cows had congregated. Far above them, a red-tailed hawk drifted like the boys kite, on the strings of early morning air currents rising off the fields and pastures below. Then in everwidening spirals the hawk rose higher in the indigo sky, searching for any snake or rodent that dared to cross the open pasture in the glitter light of early morning. On a nearby rise, a prairie dog barked out a warning as the hawk folded its wings and dropped toward the earth. Skip came over the ridge, now full and satisfied, and easily rounded up the milk cows to herd them back to the barn. At midway, he joined in alongside the horse and they walked slowly behind the cows. The dog stopped along the way to sniff the ground, his pink tongue hanging out one side of his smiling mouth, ringed by pointed, white teeth. Blaze picked up the pace as they neared the corral outside the barn. Speck and Badger sat on the top rung of the corral fence, waiting for their oldest brothers return. The milking went without difficulty this morning; Speck had alfalfa hay ready for the cows behind the stanchions. While Bill milked, Speck shooed flies away from the bucket below the cows udder. Flies covered every vertical surface in the barn and swarmed whenever human or animal approached. Badger knew that one of the barnyard cats had hidden her litter of kittens in the hayloft. Already bored by the milking, he

decided to climb up into the loft and play with them a while. Then it came to him that theyd be a good foil for some mischief. So while Speck pitch-forked alfalfa into the cows feed bunks, Badger drew up his plan. As Bill sat on a one-legged stool beside the last of the three cows that gave milk in the morning, Badger came poking about with a yellow-striped kitten under his arm. Bill took the cows teat, pointed it at the boy, and squirted a stream of milk at his face. Badger giggled and licked the hot milk as it ran down the side of his nose to his upper lip, wiping the rest on the sleeve of his shirt. Bill squirted the cows milk again, this time hitting the kitten in the face, causing it to claw its way out of Badgers arm and jump to the ground. Badger chased the little animal around the stanchions until at last he caught it. Bill filled a rusty old pie pan with fresh warm milk. A dozen cats of various colors, patterns and sizes appeared and devoured the contents, pushing against each others heads, digging their claws into the dirt. Chores done, the boys and their oldest brother headed up to the house. The smell of lately fried bacon replaced the pungent smell of the corral. Bill carried the milk bucket up to the porch and set it outside the door. He pulled water into the kitchen sink with a few strong thrusts of the handle on the cast iron pump and washed his hands and arms before sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and the new issue of Cappers Weekly. The younger boys were filthyor so it seemed to Josies eye. Why, she hadnt even served up breakfast yet, and these ragamuffins looked like theyd hauled in most of the dirt from RenoCounty.

Josie turned away from the stove to look at them. Not a bite to eat until you two scamps are cleaned up! she warned. The boys tumbled off their chairs and went straight to the sink and drove the pump handle. Soon a gush of cold spring water from eight feet under ground flowed into a basin that sat in the long, wide porcelain sink built into the counter top that extended across the north wall. Badger had to climb onto the three-legged stool that Josie kept under the sink. Speck pushed his way in around Badger and got a handful of water. Josie glanced at them as they dried their hands and wondered if there was more dirt in the sink or on the towel. She spooned out scrambled eggs from the black skillet that she held with a hot pad wrapped around the handle. She took the plates to the table and handed one to Bill and placed the other two in front of the boys, who were, as always, swinging their legs and kicking each other under the kitchen table. Whatre you two going to do today? Bill asked his brothers. Speck looked at Badger who looked down at his plate. Nothin Speck answered. You playin ball safternoon? Badger asked his big brother. I reckon so. You coming to the game? That was a given. Speck and Badger always showed up at Bills games. Even though he no longer played with the Salt Packers in Hutchinson, Bill never missed a chance to play baseball. Anywhere.Anytime. As ornery as Speck, Bill had all Badgers charm. He knew the young ladies would be there to watch him hit the ball and run. At twenty-six he was among the most eligible bachelors in Langdon. Folks thought it high time he should marry and start caring for a

family of his own. He worked hard, but shirked responsibility. He projected boyish charm and sultry good looks. But recently his dark eyes seemed a little colder. Bill sometimes slid into a stolen base on his back, with his baseball cleats in the air. He had drawn blood more than once in competitive play and it gave him a feeling of power that he liked. He supposed that Kitty Holland liked it too.

The JordanSpringsSchool had a festive banner over the door that proclaimed, LAST DAY! Everyone in the community came, whether they had children in school or not. Outside, men young and old had gathered around the horseshoe links. The tournament would last all morning, with semi-finals and finals taking place after lunch. The men stood around the links in groups, players or not. The players took the game very seriously, squinting at their target, holding the horseshoe tongs up, swinging back slowly, letting go and following through with a gracefulness that seemed out of place for men of the prairie. Inside, the women unpacked homemade food from boxes and picnic baskets. The men who served on the school board had already pushed the desks to the front corner of the open room and stacked them one on top of the other. They set up long tables fashioned of sawhorses and planks covered with freshly laundered, starched and sadironed bed sheets. The more prosperous families brought their food in wicker baskets, in earthenware bowls with embroidered muslin towels wrapped around the hot dishes to keep them so. Others brought their food in boxes and crates originally designed for other

purposes. But there was little difference in the quality of the food. Everything was home grown and homemade. Josie unpacked her covered dishes from an old egg crate that Bill had rescued for this purpose from the Produce before he closed it the previous fall. She brought two pans of homemade biscuits, a bowl of freshly churned butter, with preserves made from sand hill plums that grew along the roadsides and in the pastures west of Langdon, and a crock of green beans from last summers canning. She set out dishes of piccalilli relish made from green tomatoes taken before the first frost last fall and sweet pickle chips preserved from the cucumber crop two years before. Finally she unpacked a yellow pound cake baked yesterday and set it at the end of the long table with the other desserts. Speck and Badger rode with their mother from home to the school. They went to the ball field where a game had already begun. Speck went into right field; Badger waited on the bench. They would play with the other boys until the teacher, Miss Elliott, rang the dinner bell. Bill left home after the rest of the family. He drove to the station to pick up his brother and sister, who were coming in on the first passenger train of the day from Hutchinson. Fay had been in high school at Nickerson. Vesta had finished high school and now had completed her first year at the business college in Hutchinson. He put his bat and glove into his old duffel bag with two well-used baseballs and several grimy sweat towels. Then he changed into the comfortable old jersey he had kept from his SaltCity days to be ready for the afternoon game.

The Rock Island Depot in Langdon was not much larger than many of the houses in town. The interior consisted of one large room with an office and a ticket counter across one end that opened onto a shipping and receiving dock. Three rows of uncomfortable wooden benches filed in front of the ticket counter, as if the Depot Master could climb upon a box and deliver a sermon from the front of the room. The interior had a stale and musty smell. It already had begun to
Rock Island Depot, Langdon, KS. 1916

take on the heat of the day. Bill rolled a

cigarette and waited outside on the deck by the tracks where he could pick up a fresh breeze. The train arrived on time and after hugs and handshakes, the three headed out to the school. Vesta kept her long, dark blond hair tied in an upswept knot on the top of her head. She wore white. Her starched cotton blouse had short, pleated sleeves that buttoned above her elbows. She looked fragile, but was all sophistication and poise. The A-line skirt came to the ankles and she wore white pumps with thick sculptured heels and white stockings. Short lashes fringed her gray-blue eyes. She wore no make-up to cover a light sprinkling of freckles dotting the smooth pale skin of her face. Her cheeks held a rosy glow accented by the long narrow scarf of pink silk that kept her hair from blowing in the flivver. At sixteen, Fay was not as handsome as his older brother, but he exuded an air of quiet dignity that held him in good stead. He was a schoolboy at RenoCountyHigh

School in Nickerson. Like Vesta, he had dressed for the occasion. He wore long pants the color of ripe wheat and laced shoes. His pinstripe shirt had no collar. He was thin, all legs and arms, but almost as tall as Bill. You cant play baseball in those clothes, Kid. Fay had never been asked to play with the young men of the community, so he did not take his brothers meaning at first. This tacit invitation, coming from Bill, not only the best athlete the town of Langdon had ever seen, but his own brother, made Fay swell with pride. Ive got some other clothes in my grip, Fay said, matter-of-factly. Well, good. Because I expect you to hold down shortstop this afternoon. Vesta had sat in the back seat without speaking. Then she asked, whos going to be playing baseball? Pert near the regular bunch, I reckon, Bill answered. I think Tommys coming over. Vesta did not answer. The three finished the short ride out to JordanSprings with little more conversation.

As the trio climbed out of Bills automobile, Miss Elliott, the schoolmarm, completed her first year at the school by ringing the dinner bell. Miss Elliott appeared quite mature, though only twenty, dressed in somber tones considered old-fashioned even by many of the parents. After everyone had gathered around her and had quieted, Miss

Elliott turned to Vesta. Would you be good enough to accompany us in the Doxology, dear? Vesta had accompanied the school choir, made up of all the students from youngest to oldest, for the Christmas chorale. She smiled demurely and approached the stage at the front of the room, taking a seat at the piano. She noticed Tommy Smith standing near the back of the room with other young men his age. After Vesta played the final bar of the familiar psalter, the entire community joined in singing. Praise God from whom all blessings flow. Praise Him, all creatures here below. Praise Him above, ye heavenly host. Praise Father, Son and Holy Ghost.

And then, a long, drawn-out and somber, if slightly atonal Ahhh men. After the singing of the Doxology, a general chaos followed while the people sorted through their baskets and boxes for their eating utensils. The oldest women and men of the community went first, followed by parents selecting food for the youngest of the children there. Finally, the men and students got in line while most of the otherwise unoccupied women watched over the tables, clearing empty bowls and plates and putting out more food. Enough food for as many more remained when everyone had filled their plates. When Vesta left the stage after closing the lid on the piano keyboard, locking it and placing the key in the storage compartment of the piano bench, she walked towards Tommy Smith, who stood watching her, as if no one else was around them. Hello, Tommy, Vesta said, avoiding eye contact, looking towards the floor.

Gday, Vesta, he said, his hands trembling, almost invisibly, as he held the brim of his sand-colored straw hat in front of his chest. She walked past the young man and made her way over to her mother. Tommy followed her only with his eyes. Kitty Holland was already in the school room with her childhood friends, Gertrude Applegate and Jenny Railsback. The girls were there more for the baseball game than for the food, but each had contributed a plate of cookies to the desserts table. Bill asked Kitty to eat dinner with him. Kitty did nothing without creating a noisy whirlwind to get attention, and a stream of words punctuated by silvery peals of laughter followed her as she took his arm. Turning her head from side to side, she smiled broadly at those she recognized, making sure that no one missed who she had in tow, as if to say, look what I got! Neither the Hollands nor Jonas and Josie made an attempt to intervene. Instead, each parent ignored their meal and watched as the pair filled their plates and went outside to eat apart from the other adults and young people. From across the room Rosa Kelley watched as if she observed from the other side of a window, as the three giggling girls and the baseball player left to find a place to eat outside. The skin below Rosas collarbone flushed red as she turned away from the spectacle, finding something that needed to be done to occupy her time. The Hollands did not view Bill Holmes as a good match for their eldest daughter, Kathryn. He was five years older. He had not gone to high school, nor had he flourished in any occupation, though he had already tried several. His accomplishments on the baseball field were dimmed by his behavior off the field. His long-term affection for the Kelley girl and their well-known trysts had done nothing to diminish his reputation as a lothario. Folks regarded him as a man who liked his drink. Nevertheless, women

swooned over his aggressive athleticism and his dark brown eyes and auburn hair. In a word, he was a dangerous man, a charming bad boy, according to those who knew him. While the Hollands disapproved of Bill reputation, Jonas and Josie thought worse of the Holland girl. Her reputation matched Bills in her ability to march to the beat of a different drummer, ignoring social expectations. She exuded an earthy, aggressive quality that bordered on a bawdy sexuality. Her mouth was full and sensuous; she often spoke with a loud voice, sometimes using profanity, and she laughed like a man. Kittys parents had arranged for her to spend the summer with her aunt and uncle on their ranch near Eads, Colorado. Their nephew, Johnny Holland, had driven out to Turon, where the Hollands lived, to escort Kathryn back to Eads. Kitty had not yet told Bill of her impending departure, though the trip would begin the next day. Her parents meant to stifle this infatuation with Bill Holmes while still in its early stages. When everyone had finished eating, Miss Elliott mounted the stage and stood in front of her desk. The assemblage became quiet. She welcomed everyone in a somewhat shrill voice. There followed a program of awards and recognition in what soon became a hot and stuffy room. Afterwards, the women cleared the tables of food and dishes and the children went outside to play. The younger boys played tag and keep-away. The younger girls played hide-and-seek, dressed paper dolls, or sat in a circle and talked. The baseball players headed out to warm up for their game. The older men returned to finish their horseshoe tournament. A few of the young women, older teenagers for the most part, shirked their responsibilities inside the schoolhouse and crept away to watch the men set up for the game. Kitty Holland led the group. Vesta stayed inside and helped

her mother put away the leftover food and utensils. Rosa Kelley stayed inside with her mother and the other women. She went about the rote business of cleaning up and remaining invisible as if a servant in a fine house, an unseen presence taken for granted.

The ball players had already placed the bases when Kitty and her girlfriends arrived at the top of the hill behind the schoolhouse. Kittys friend Gertrude Applegate Gertie, as she was known among her friendsspread a quilted comforter on top of the grass. Jenny brought a quart jar of lemonade. The three girls sat in a semi-circle talking and giggling among themselves, watching the boys warm up. The boys were young men with hard muscles and flat bellies owing to many hard days of farm work. Several of the players wore only cotton jersey undershirts above their pants. The thin straps emphasized their bulging shoulders and biceps, which glistened with perspiration in the afternoon sun. Kitty whispered something to Jenny and Gertie, prompting them to look towards the field and then they all burst into laughter. Kittys laughter rang out above the others like the brass section of the marching band at the Fourth of July parade. The game did not start until 2:00 oclock, which allowed the players time to digest a heavy meal while their mothers and sisters finished the cleanup. Bill would captain the North team, so named for an imaginary line separating the families who lived north of the school from those to the south. Maurice Dodd captained the South. After the coin toss, North took the field. The first two innings went scoreless. In the third inning, Corky Edmiston got a two base hit for the North, followed by right

fielder George Schoonover tapping himself onto first base. Rankin and Wedel popped out, and then Bill stepped up to the plate. When he played for the Hutchinson team in 1914, Bills season average had been .337. He waited for his pitch, letting two high balls pass over the plate before he connected with a perfect pitch that sent the ball flying over Tommy Smiths head in center field. Bill ran the bases while Tommy chased the ball, bringing Edmiston and Schoonover home. The score at the bottom of the third: North 3, South 0. The game dragged out for the next three innings. The temperature had risen to the nineties, with little wind and high humidity. The pitchers tired and filled the bases with walks. Pop flies put batters and runners out alike. The girls didnt seem to mind. They continued to watch the game and whisper among themselves, laughing and snorting from time to time when some especially cute player wiggled his rear end at them while digging in to bat at home plate. From time to time, Rosa Kelley could be seen from the steps of the school building, stretching to catch sight of a ball in play, wiping her hands on a limp tea towel that she held in front of herself, like a bouquet of wilted flowers. Then she would return inside the school, appearing preoccupied by some important task as yet undone. Kitty gazed glass-eyed whenever Bill stepped up to the plate. He seemed oblivious to her presence, except when he turned to flash a grin at her as he stepped back from a bad throw and the umpire yelled, Ball! Then in the top of the seventh, Tommy Smith hit the ball over the right fielders head and ran the bases in triumph. Vesta and Rosa watched the game from the front of the school building. As if forgetting themselves, they clapped and called to him as he rounded the field. The score changed to 3-1, with one man out. The next two batters got

base hits and figured to tie the score. Then Maurice Dodd approached the plate and on the first pitch, drove the ball straight to Fay Holmes at short stop. Without a split seconds hesitation, Fay burned the ball into second base where Bill touched the bag, forcing the runner out. Bill and Fay ran and jumped at each other, giving themselves a bear hug as their team came off the field. Vesta applauded, but Rosa watched the excitement in silence while Jenny, Gertie and Kitty sprang to their feet and screamed with delight. North held South scoreless for the next two innings, and South returned the favor. The game ended just after 4:30 with storm clouds looming ominously on the northwest horizon. The wind had changed to the north, and the temperature dropped quickly as the sun fell below the cloud line. When Bill approached the girls on the comforter, he was hot and smelled like sweat. His shirt was soaked down the front and under the arms. The wet cotton clung to the muscles in his back. Kitty Holland didnt seem to mind. The cooler air would dry him off soon enough. She had plans. The two walked apart from the crowd back down the hill to the schoolhouse. Tell your mama that youll be seeing me home, Bill. I want you to take me for a ride. Both of them knew that Josie would not approve the plan. I need to help do the chores. The cows may be running wild tonight. You can find a story. How old are you, Kid? Bill sensed Kittys urgency and that awareness sent a charge through him like electricity. Nothing combined like baseball and women after a game.

Then ride to town with Gertie and meet me at the caf when I get there. Tell your folks you plan to spend the night with Gertie, and Ill bring you back there later. Youre my man, Bill Holmes. And youre my country girl. Bill touched her backside inappropriately like she was a team mate, without care whether anyone behind them might have noticed. Then he walked on ahead to catch up with his mother. Looks like we could be headed for a good thunderstorm this evening, Josie said as they headed towards the Model T. Mama! Bill called as he ran up from behind. She stopped and turned. I need to go into town. Can you take Fay and Vesta home? I reckon. What about your chores? Tell Fay Ill give him two bits if hell do them for me tonight. He knew that Fay would be an easy sell after that double play in the seventh. Bill took off running for his car, gave it a crank and backed onto the road in front of the schoolhouse. He shifted into first gear and the car made a familiar hum as he turned it toward Langdon.

Bill stopped at Grieves once he got to town and went to the pharmacists counter at the back of the store. Doc Grieve owned the pharmacy, but Jesse Hughes ran the store for him. Jesse looked up from a Saturday Evening Post, closed the magazine and grunted from the effort of getting up. How was the game today, Billy Boy? Jesse asked, extending his hand.

Dont believe what you hear about the Souths going to rise again. Bill said, flashing a smile and receiving Jesses hand. How about a pint of heart medicine for a tired ball player tonight? Jesse and Bill had finished eighth grade together and the two had been friends for years. Jesse knew his old chum and asked, Whose heart you plan to medicate tonight, Bill? A gentleman never kisses and tells, Tex. You know better than to ask. Im thinking you aint been kissed yet, chum. So it wouldnt be the same. Then I cant risk spoiling my streak. Wrap that pint up and let me go. Ive got places to go and people to see. Bill slid a coin across the counter, picked up the package and doffed a smart salute to his friend as he turned to go. When he got back outside, he put the package under the seat and headed across the street to the caf. He frowned when he saw Kit and Gertie sitting at one of the tables. He had not intended the evening to be a threesome. Dont worry, Bill, Gertie said. Jim Kelley should be walking through that same door just about any minute. The two girls looked at each other and Bills face colored slightly. Well, you know Im proud to be out with you anytime, Gert. Not when youre figuring to sport your lady friend here. The sound of the spring on the screen door called attention to Jim Kelleys entrance. He was taller than Bill and if anything, better looking. Jim and Bill had not remained such good friends after Bill had jilted Jims sister, Rosa, the year before. Tonight the four would have

supper in the cafe and say an early goodnight, so that each couple could go their separate way. Conversation came easily for Kit and Gertie. Bill and Jim nodded and answered questions, and kept up a little small talk during the meal. The meal consisted of pan-fried steak, riced potatoes and brown gravy, hot biscuits with fresh butter and honey. After the waitress cleared the plates, the two couples prepared to leave. The ladies left the table for the powder room while the men divvied up the bill. Hows Rosa getting along? Bill asked once the girls were out of ear shot. Oh, shes fine. Shes going to be working in Hutchinson in the ladies clothes department at Pegues-Wright in another week or so. Bill nodded. Their young ladies returned and the four headed towards the door. The wind had quieted outside. It was cooler than it had been earlier in the day, but the air lay still and heavy. The two couples separated on the sidewalk, saying their good-byes. Bill and Kit walked to his car across the street. He opened the door for her and she climbed onto the front seat, sitting in the middle, near the steering wheel. Wed better put up the top, Bill said. Oh no! Not unless it rains. I want to feel the wind blowing through my hair. Take me for a ride out of town, Bill. Drive as fast as you dare! Kitty had already taken the combs out of her thick black hair and she shook her head back and forth to loosen it. The probability of rain was far greater than Kitty had surmised, but Bill obliged and gave the automobile a crank. It started almost at once, causing the passenger compartment to rock and vibrate.

Bill pulled the car around, put the windshield down, and headed south out of town. He picked up speed until Kits hair blew back like a horses mane caught in the wind at full gallop. They spoke and laughed loudly, though they could barely hear over the dual roars of the wind and the four-cylinder engine. Two miles south of town, Bill slowed and turned off the road, stopping in front of a barbed wire gate in a fencerow. It had grown nearly dark. With the motor idling, Bill stepped out and opened the fence gate. Run her through, he called to Kit. She slid behind the wheel, eased it into first gear and released the handbrake and clutch, gently adding gas to the engine to put the car into motion. The car moved steadily through the fence row into the pasture. Bill had selected his favorite fishing spot, just off Silver Creek. The banks were sandy and the water shallow. He jumped on the running board as Kit guided the automobile down towards the trees that grew along the water. Whoa, he said, as if he were speaking to Blaze. Kit engaged the brake, brought the car to a stop and turned off the magneto, killing the engine. Bill helped her out of the car and onto the running board. She put her arms around his neck and kissed him full on the lips. Bill responded by picking her up and swinging her around. They laughed as he set her down on her feet away from the car. He reached under the seat and handed the package to her. Oh, my! Whatever do we have here? He rummaged around behind the drivers seat and retrieved an old blanket. Throwing it over his shoulder, he took her by the hand and then walked down closer to the river, under the trees. They found a soft spot near a sand bar away from the rivers

edge. Together they spread the blanket and then sat down. Bill leaned back on one elbow, pulling a tobacco tin out of his pocket. He rolled a cigarette, lit it and handed it to Kit. She took a long drag and offered it back. Keep it for a bit. Bill broke the seal on the whiskey bottle hed bought at Grieves. Once opened, he took a mouthful straight from the bottle. Aagh! He opened his mouth as if it was burning, taking on air and shaking his head, he made a sucking sound. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and passed the bottle to Kit. Thisll keep you warm on a cold night! She took the bottle and he took back the cigarette. He inhaled from the cigarette while Kit drank from the bottle. She matched Bill in her enthusiasm and giggled as she handed the bottle back. Lets go wading! she exclaimed after a few more shots. None too modestly she removed her shoes and stockings. Bill took another drag from the cigarette and offered it to Kit. She accepted and leaned back on her elbow, arched her back and puffed from the burning tobacco. Bill pulled off his shoes and socks and rolled up his pant legs. He stood up, took another swig from the bottle, finished it and replaced the cap, tossing the bottle to the side of the blanket. The sand was hot and dry where they had set up camp. He moved towards the water, then turned back and offered Kit a hand up. She stood on her toes and kissed him again and ran her right hand up through his dark hair. He returned the kiss and drew her closer to him. They walked arm in arm down to the edge of the water. The river bank was damp and cold, as much clay as sand. It stuck to the sides of their feet until they reached the river, which rushed past them flowing over the tops of their feet. They felt

the slick, muddy, algae-covered river bottom. Bill took a final drag from the cigarette and flipped it off his thumb. Glowing red embers arched towards the water and made hissing noises as they landed and disappeared into the water. It was close to dark now and there was no moon to brighten their campsite. Bill walked back to the car and returned with a kerosene lantern. He hung the lantern from a low branch of a nearby willow tree. The flame flickered and made shadows dance around them. They returned to the blanket and lay in each others arms. They kissed long and hard. Kit unbuttoned his shirt and stroked the tuft of hair on his chest. She found his nipples and pulled them into her mouth, between her teeth, biting gently. Then she traced the muscles in his neck with her tongue, tasting the salt on his skin, from the collar bone to the sensitive area below and behind his ear. Their tongues met and caressed. Bills hand went up inside her blouse and found her breasts above her corset. He kissed her ear and pulled the lobe between his lips. Without warning a distant clap of thunder startled them. Oh, Bill, what are we going to do, Kid? Bill would have said wed better get on back, but she placed her hand between his legs and found him hard and straining against his pants. About what? he asked. About us, silly. What are we going to do about us? Bill chuckled lecherously and plunged his face into her cleavage. Do we need to do something? Kit fell silent as he came up for air. In the pale light he could see tears welling up in her eyes and he sensed that he had said something wrong.

She bit her lower lip like a petulant child and dropped her head. Im leaving tomorrow for Eads. Mama and Daddy dont want me seeing you no more. Maybe theyre right. Something always happens when things start going too good. Oh, dont say that. You know I love you. I cant bear the thought of being away from you for a day, not to say for the whole summer. Oh, Bill, take me. God. Take me tonight. Say that youll have me, Kit gushed with too much melodrama in her voice. She fumbled with the buttons on the front of his pants and undid them. Bill reached up under her dress, untied her pantaloons and pulled them down around her ankles. She cried out as he entered her and moaned as they thrust at each other. Neither of them noticed the first drops of rain as their passion grew, but they both tensed as the thunder rolled across the sky, like a bag of softballs falling on an oak floor, longer this time and closer. The thunder continued to rumble farther in the distance. Finally he relaxed in her arms and then rolled over onto his back. Kit hung on and rolled with him and continued to pleasure herself on him while holding him with her arms behind his shoulders. She pulled his shirt open and laid her head on his chest. She continued until her breathing became harder and faster and louder, ending in a long low moan before she rolled over beside him. The thunder clapped again and lightning flashed brighter than the lantern. The heavy rain came suddenly, ending their reverie. They broke camp and ran for the car, leaving the empty whiskey bottle behind. Bill struggled to raise the top of the car, his shirt still open. Kit stood with him and together they pulled up the canvas mechanism, but not before they were both drenched. Bill went around to the front of the

car. It started quickly. Any more lost time might have meant that their car could become stuck in the pasture. That unfortunate outcome would have required much explaining to people who would not have believed any story the two might have devised.

Kit sat even closer to Bill on the way back into town than she had before. She continued to stroke his chest and belly, running her fingers through the hair she found there, occasionally reaching up to kiss his ear. They pulled in across the street from the Applegate home. Bill killed the engine and they waited for Jim and Gertie to arrive so that the girls could go into the house together. Jim Kelley turned round the corner, casting light from his headlights into the lovers car. Kitty turned to Bill who met her eyes and saw a desperate look in her face. So, say youll come to me out there. Say youll come and be with me. I could come after harvest. You suppose a feller could find reasonable work? Something fit to settle down and raise a family with? Could you settle down with an old carouser like me? Oh, Bill my darling boy. You know we could make it together. Say youll come to me out there. Kit grabbed his neck and squeezed him to her breast. She sprang from the jitney and waived to Gertie and Jim. Look at us! We got soaked! She stood, waif-like, rain-soaked, holding her shoes and stockings in front of her dress. Water drops driddled from her wet hair down

her forehead and the sides of her cheeks; one drop poised on the end of her nose and caught the dim light of the street. SSSHHH!!Gertie warned. Kit giggled impulsively, the alcohol still coursing through her veins, and ran around the back of Bills car to the drivers side window. She kissed him flirtatiously on the cheek. Come to Colorado, she whispered, her voice full of unstated promise. We can be together there. Ill come, Bill said, feeling all of a sudden short of breath. After harvest. Gertrude grabbed her paramours neck and kissed him lightly on the lips, then clasped hands with Kit and strolled to the front door. The men nodded at one another and Jim raised his eyebrows at Bills disheveled appearance. They returned to their cars to make their separate ways home. Bill drove home frowning in the light rain. When he got there, he rolled a cigarette and smoked it, sitting in his automobile, listening to the sound of the rain outside before going inside to bed. The rain peppered the canvas top of his car as he watched the ember glow at the end of his smoke. He had a long day in front of him tomorrow. He would play first base for a sandlot team in Hutchinson the next afternoon. Hed go out with the boys afterwards. He didnt want to think about Kit or their future tonight. He felt like the game was down two runs in the bottom of the ninth, two away, with the weakest batter on the team at the plate ahead of him.

Tuesday, May 23, 1916 The roads across the prairie had improved a little in the thirty years since the Holmeses had made their way from Boone County, Indiana to Arkalon in Western Kansas. The countryside consisted of miles and miles of fat, round, treeless hills, sagebrush and wind. In summer, the wind blew most of the time, like the hot air from a blast furnace, extracting moisture from all it touched. Sometimes in the high plains desert, the only water is locked inside the tough green skin of a succulent plant with spiny barbs that harbor the juice inside its limbs. Somehow the wind made the summer weather more tolerable; the heat would otherwise have been unbearable. Enroute to Colorado, Kit and her cousin, Johnny Holland, stayed overnight at the Windsor Hotel, in Garden City, Kansas, the finest hotel of its day between Kansas City and Denver, sometimes called the Waldorf of the Prairie. Kit wrote to Bill on stationery that depicted an engraving of the hotel,
The Windsor Hotel Garden City, Kansas c.1916

an imposing, four-story Victorian structure that commanded the corner of Main and Pine Streets. From its appearance, the Windsor could just as well have stood opposite Central Park, in New York City. The envelope was postmarked:

GARDEN CITY, KANS. MAY 24, 1916, 7-AM.

Tuesday Night Dearest Boy Wish I was where I was this time last night or else you were here. Sure am one tired girl. Am lying on the bed leaning on my elbow writing this so I know it wont look great, but Ive just been thinking about you all day & I couldn't eat my supper so just tho't I'd scratch on this paper to you & see if that would help any. Gee, my face is sun burnt 'till I'm sure it will peel off. I put my hat on & Johnny put the top up so I tho't I wouldn't burn, but sure did anyway. It was a dandy day for us though, cloudy & cool most all morning. I sure have wished a lot of times today that you was with me. I didn't get to talk to you half long enough last night. How was the game? Hope you had a good time (but hope you had it all by your self, Ha Ha) You should have been with us today. We took in a lot of towns. We got to Kinsley by noon. We got here then at seven, but Johnny was pretty tired, driving all that way. So we stopped & will go at it again in the morning. The roads were just full of little bumpy places & made it just horrid, but they were better from Kinsley on. It was awful dusty this afternoon. Gee, come on, Kid, my window opens on to the second floor stairway here & there is a big long hall & some fussy little girl just now started "some fussy little rag" on the piano. We would go round & round. Well! I must take this down & then go to bed. Do you suppose I can ever go to sleep without what I didn't even get before I started this morning? Honey I suredo want my good night kisses. But you will have to send them to me. Write to me real soon, I just can't hardly wait 'till I get a letter. With a bushel of love, Your little country girl K.

Wednesday, May 24, 1916 Johnny Holland rose first to prepare for the final leg of the trip to the eastern plains of Colorado. Kit stayed in bed until he came to get the luggage, then she dressed in a hurry so he could load their bags. Johnny waited for her in the dining room of the Windsor. The two enjoyed a hearty breakfast that included eggs and bacon, pancakes and maple syrup, coffee and iced water. By the time they finished breakfast, the sun was well into the great bowl of Kansas sky above them as they left Garden City. The sun followed them into Colorado as they headed farther west.