1 those that never sing

8/6/2019 1 Those That Never Sing

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THOSE THAT NEVER SINGA Biographical Novel

by

Verl Lee Holmes


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THOSE THAT NEVER SINGVerl Holmes, (719) 635-0262

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Chapter One

Hier, je tadore

December 17, 1979

From the window of her room, Vesta watched cars and trucks pass by, their tires

clip-clopping on the pocked concrete seams of U.S. Highway 54 beyond the brown lawn

that separated her from people going their various ways. The curtains on her window

were over-washed, thin and faded, pastel colors and patterns dissolving into dull grey.

Sitting in the December sunlight that poured through the glass, she saw tiny specks and

particles floating aimlessly in the air. How like gold dust, she thought idly, and returned

to her task at hand. She signed the second of two checks that she had made payable to

the Langdon Christian Church, and then began a letter to Guilford Railsback, the Church

Treasurer, back in Langdon.


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Pennocks Rest Home Kingman, Ks 67068December 17, 1979

Dear Guilford:

Im so far behind in our church givingjust sending something

now. My bank balance is safe enough.Im feeling better just recently but very weak today. Three very good

meals each day.Christmas season here very showy.But miss seasonal program atchurch.

Im sending $250 for ChristianHome and $250 to church stewardship.

This does not catch me up with all the time that has passed. It costs me $528 amonth here. The bank keeps track.

My mind has sometimes been unsteady of latebut most recently thesepast weeks has been clear.

Id rather walk out of doors and twill be warm a few days nowbutdowntown is too far to walk. Im sending these checks

Please forward. Thank you.

Vesta signed the note and put the cap back onto her Sheaffer fountain pen and

rummaged for a 15-cent stamp in the top drawer of her night stand which was within

arms reach. The roll of stamps lay beneath an old postcard that seemed to Vesta she had

never seen before. The postcard bore the romantic, sepia-toned image of a uniformed

soldier and a young woman. Their eyes look towards ... the future? Both smile as if in

anticipation.

Hier, Aujourdhui, Demain!Hier, helas! jaisouffert.Aujourdhui, je tadore,Devant le seuilouvert

Dun lendemaindaurore!

Vesta pondered the picture on the card and wondered what the couple expected of

their lives. Were they in love? Was the girl a courtesan? The soldier on leave? The

girls hair was bobbed in the fashion of the day, her shoulders barely covered by red

ribbon straps. Vesta mused at this scantily clad girl, about her uncertain virtue. She read

the back of the postcard again.


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Dear Sis:I recd all your letters. Also Mamas. And they were sure fine. Just keep it up,for it makes a fellow feel great. Will send a letter later as I am busy.Am feelingfine. Give all my best regards.

Your Bro,

Bill .

The card was postmarked in France. 29 SEP 1918 It had been okayed and signed by

the company censor, a Lt. Zooman of the Signal Corps.

Years before, someone had translated the poem on the front of the card for Vesta.

An old paperclip, spotted with rust, held a scrap of lined paper that read as follows:

Yesterday, Today, Tomorrow!

Yesterday, alas! I suffered.Today, I love you,

Before the open thresholdOf a dawning day!

Vesta smiled faintly and drifted away into her memories. Later she put a stamp

on the envelope and addressed it to Guilford Railsback, but for some reason perhaps

known only to her, she neither sealed nor mailed the letter. Instead, she misplaced it in

the top drawer of her nightstand. It remained with the old picture post card that she had

kept with her for so many years. The two checks went unprocessed and slept like well-

behaved children in the unsealed envelope until that spring two years later when Uncle

Bige found the letter and the post card among her personal effects after she had died and

her body was taken away. The checks and the letter to Guilford are in the envelope still.

The Langdon Christian Church survived nearly twenty years more without Vestas final

contribution.


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Last Day of School, 1906

Billy Holmes opened the cover of the souvenir program and read:

Langdon School

District No. 62

LangdonTownshipReno County, Kan.

TERM 1905-1906

COMPLIMENTS OF

Mr. and Mrs. W. J. Stewart,TEACHERS

A. W. Hamilton, Co. Supt.G. R. Chrislip, Director

R. G. Dade, ClerkR. E. Duncan, Treas.

The fifty-eight students of the LangdonSchool were listed on the page opposite in

the Souvenirs centerfold. Billy studied the list as Mr. W. J. Stewart droned on about the

accomplishments of the year. Finally, Mr. Stewart read the names of the students aloud.

As he read each name, the student stood and walked to the front of the room. Billy

followed along.

PUPILSEighth and Ninth Grade

Gertrude MillerMargarette Smith

Cora HollandFlorenee Dodd

Elmer EwingHersalChrislipEsther DadeFrankParker

Seventh GradeRosa Kelley

JoniePowelsonRose Catte

Pearl BlanchettHugh Smith

Edison Breckenridge

Jennie CatteBessie Holmes

Beatrice CriswellJesse MillerEarl McAtee

Delphos HolmesFifth GradeVivian ParishVictor McAteeVesta Holmes

Fred SmithOrval HolmesChester Parker

Fourth GradeAlta Dade

Jessie HolmesJames KelleyFrankie Kelley

Harold Breckenridge

Hazel DuncanEffie Rice

Samuel BerryHoward MillerHarold Catte


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Third GradeIrene ParishJohn Ives

Sara SuffecoolFrank Dade

ForestCollings

Nellie SecrestRuth Allen

Bessie ParishVictor Powell

Harold Holmes

Second GradeIva SherowTommy KelleyPaul Parish

RoyParishChestley Grace

Otis RiceFirst Grade

Annie DavisWillie Grace

Nellie HolmesPearl DavisElsie Rice

Cecil McAtee


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Idly, Billy counted to himself. He had five cousins besides his brother, Delphos, and his

little sis, Vesta, standing on the dais with Mr. and Mrs. Stewart and Mr. Chrislip. Seven. There

were four Kelleys, plus Rosas older sister Theresa and baby sister, Agnes at home, but they

didnt count. Together there were more Holmeses and Kelleys in the LangdonSchool than any

other family. Almost twenty percent in all. Billy had gotten his best grades in arithmetic before

finishing the eighth grade at the JordanSpringsSchool, two years before. Yes, twenty percent,

not counting his little brother, Fay, and the red-headed baby brother, Kelmet, who was not yet

old enough for school and the fact that his mama was expecting again, though no one was

supposed to know or speak of it. He smiled. The Holmeses about doubled the Kelleys. And

Mama had told him that Catholics like the Kelleys wanted to take over the country. Hmph.

Looks like were doing okay for ourselves, he thought.

Billy surveyed the group standing at the front of the room. His eyes stopped on Rosa

Kelley. Rosa was just thirteen years old. Three years younger than himself. She was as grown

as the older girls, but had a tinier waist and delicately formed hands as pale as could be and as

soft as silk. Strawberry blonde curls fell onto the starched white jumper she wore over the stiff

cotton blouse that was caught tight at her slender neck by a cameo pin with a Gibson Girl profile

against a shell-pink background.

Rosa noticed Billy staring at her and smiled. She winked and her smile showed teeth

before she turned to Mr. Stewart, who had just finished calling roll.

We will close this mornings program with a poem recited by one of our Seventh Grade

girls, Miss Rosa Kelley, he announced.


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Rosa stepped to the front of the stage without notes. This poem is called Not for

School but for Life We Learn, by Professor Edward Brooks. Itis printed on the front page of

your souvenir program. She showed great poise as she curtsied and began.

With books of work or healthful play,Let your first years be passed,

That you may give for every daySome good account at last.

Hard indeed must a man be madeBy the toil and traffic of gain and trade,

Who loves not the spot where a boy he played.

Life is a page of paper white,Whereon each one of us may write

His word or two and then comes night.Greatly begin; though thou hast time

But for a line, be that sublime;Not failure, but low aim is crime,

A pebble in the streamlet scant,Has turned the course of many a river;

A dewdrop on the infant plant,May warp the giant oak forever.

Rosa reached the end of the poem, reciting without fault or hesitation. When she had

finished, parents and other students politely applauded. In response, she caught the sides of her

dress and stretched it wide, placing the pointed toe of her right foot, clad in a black button-up

high-topped shoe, in front of her left. She lowered her chin and bowed demurely from the waist.

And bowed again, smiling sweetly. Billy sighed from the very bottom of his stomach and felt

goose flesh race up and down his spine.


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After the program was completed, Billy Holmes found his way to Rosa Kelley, as a

hundred or so people who filled the school milled about. She pretended not to notice as the

handsome lad approached.

I thought you might like me to bring you a cup of punch, he said, in a brittle baritone

filled with confidence that surprised both himself and Rosa.

Why, that would be very kind of you, Bill.

You did real good saying that poem, he blurted out without thinking. She blushed.

Well, Ill be right back with that punch. You stay right here.

Sit. Stay. Atta feller, he thought to himself as he made his way to the refreshments.

She aintno dang dog to train! he muttered under his breath feeling his neck burn in

embarrassment. He managed his way to the punch bowl attended by his mother and Margaret

Kelley, Rosas mother.

Ill have two, he said to Mrs. Kelley, trying not to notice his mother overseeing the

linen-covered serving table, her arms resting on the shelf created by her belly below her bosom,

conspicuously disguised by a loose-fitting smock.

One at a time, Billy, his mother said.

Uhm, well, its okay, Mama. Im getting another one for someone else. Josie looked

beyond her son and observed Rosa, halfway across the room, standing obediently, watching this

young man attempt to be civil and socialized.

I see, Josie said, not smiling, a faint tone of disapproval hovering in her voice.

Billy accepted the second cup from Mrs. Kelley and turned to leave the table. Then he

remembered the plates of cookies beside the punch bowl and reached to take a handful, trying to

juggle both cups in his left hand. As he stretched out his right arm, suddenly one cup slipped


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from his grip causing both cups to slosh their contents. One cup began to fall, but he recovered it

with his other hand. Still, he lost most of the contents of both cups to the floor as he hopped

backwards, trying to avoid the spill.

Now look at you! Josie exclaimed. Margaret reacted quickly with a towel and made

her way to the front of the table to clean up the mess.

Sorry, Mama. Can we try again?

Josie sighed, but obliged Billys request. Her eldest son would soon be a man. Having

finished the eighth grade two years before, he had worked for his father and others doing farm

labor. He had even managed to save a little money. Still, she was reluctant to let go of him,

even though many his age had already settled down.

Finally, Billy Holmes made his way back to Rosa, who had waited patiently for her

knight errant to return. Secretly, she felt amused at his clumsiness with the punch. He is a

handsome boy, she thought. The rectangular muscles of his chest hinted at themselves beneath

the muslin shirt he wore and the suspenders that buttoned at the waist of his denim trousers.

Rosa loved watching him play baseball with the other boys in Langdon, especially on hot days

when they took off their shirts and their backs glistened in the sunlight. She felt herself flush

even now at the memory. The room had suddenly grown warmer.

Thank you for the punch, Bill; Im sorry for the trouble.

Oh, it was no trouble, he said, as if nothing untoward had happened. Say, you

wouldnt mind me walking with you back home, would you?

Why, that would be lovely, Rosa felt the skin on the back of her neck get hot and turn

red. Are you playing baseball after dinner?


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went to school and learned to read and cipher. He had learned more from watching his daddy

persevere after losing the farm in BooneCounty almost twenty years before. Married eighteen

years, Jonas had become the head of a family of four sons and a daughter, the apple of his eye.

Experience had hardened him; he had learned to keep his emotions to himself and to manage

without relying on others apart from the immediate family. You did what you had to do to

survive. A wizened, robust man of 39, Jonas enjoyed this day of competition with the other

farmers. But like his daddy and his wife, he secretly yearned for something better, a life more

reliable than wheat farming. He communicated these ambitions to his children without saying so,

when they saw him lose his temper at the random misfortunes of farm life, or when he took a

leather strap to the hind end of one of his wayward sons.

With their shirt sleeves rolled up and sweat beading on their arms and across their fore

heads, the men tossed the smithys wares back and forth until the backs and armpits of their

chambray shirts showed the same dark sweat stains that appeared on any other day. But the

sound of the horseshoes thudding against the loamy, freshly turned earth or the occasional clang

of a ringer lent a festive atmosphere, more like that of a country fair.

All the activity outside in no way minimized the activity inside the school building,

where the women unpacked willow baskets and boxes of food to lay a meal on an improvised

table made of scrap lumber that spanned wooden barrels and stretched across one whole side of

the undivided room. They covered the rough planks with white sheets that smelled of fresh air,

shaking them out above the tables. The sheets billowed aloft over the table surface like the

wings of white birds on a rising breeze before settling down onto the boards to be smoothed out

by the womens dry and calloused hands. The women shooed flies and set out ranks of pies.

Some of the men brought in chairs from buckboards, while others hefted crocks of iced


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lemonade and the occasional jug of hard cider set on shelves at the back of the room. The

elderly sat outside in the little shade afforded to them, the early summer sun already so high in

the sky at noon that only a space barely eight feet on the north side of the building avoided its

intensity. Sitting there in the shade, thus ensconced, backs straight as rods, dignified by the

respect of their sons and daughters, the distinguished elders dispensed advice and disapproval.

Along with such grave responsibilities, they were ever vigilant for a bit of passing gossip.

Once the food was served, it was not long until it was time for the baseball game.

Everyone deferred to the smack of a baseball in a cowhide mitt and the spine-thrilling knock of a

hardball against a birch wood bat. Soon as the game was over, Billy Holmes went looking for

Rosa Kelley. His sweat-soaked shirt contrasted with the starched white raiment of the girl he

had gone sweet on.

Their families had arrived earlier that day in buggies and buckboards, drawn by horses,

some riding horses. As though responding to an unheard clarion, Billy and Rosa set off on foot,

taking the road that led towards town. A prairie pasture separated them by a mile or so from the

adjacent farms their families worked. The late spring grasses came up to their knees as they

walked. Flies and gnats swarmed in the warm, moist air and grasshoppers flew up as high as

Rosas breasts.

Halfway to their destination, they descended into a valley where the horizons surrounding

them reached no more than a few hundred yards in any direction. Four rugged cottonwood trees

stretched up from the floor in the center of this natural cathedral. Impulsively, Billy took Rosas

hand as they continued to walk.

What do you think youre going to do after you finish eighth grade, next year? he

asked.


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I dont quite know.

Rosa had a boundless curiosity for life that attracted Billy to her. She was bright and

well-spoken. The girls at JordanSprings all admired her. Her brothers, Jimmie and Frankie and

Tommy, were popular, handsome and athletic boys. Rosa had grown up running with them and

keeping up most of the time. She was at the same time a tomboy who could wrestle a boy to the

ground, and a delicate, feminine girl with eyes that sparkled of mischief. To keep up with her

brothers, she had learned to be a trickster at home, sometimes at school. Not despite, but

because of herjoie de vive, she studied her lessons and advanced swiftly in school. She dreamed

of going to high school, but the truth of her circumstances sobered Rosa. She had very few

options. There was the possibility of high school. A school had opened in Nickerson, but

Nickerson was more than twenty miles away and the Kelley family would have to board her

there if she was to attend. She could not be sure if her parents thought educating their daughters

was anything but a waste of money. Most girls lived with their parents until they married, which

usually occurred sooner rather than later. But until they married, girls were one more mouth to

feed and the Kelley family already had a spinster coming up. Her older sister, Theresa, had

never shown much promise in school. And she was so shy she hadnt had a beau. So at twenty-

one, it didnt look like she would ever have any prospects. Both the older girls helped their

mother, but a woman expected to be queen of her own castle. Almost no women worked outside

the home unless abandoned by a rejecting suitor or, far worse, passed over beyond the

marriageable age.

Sensing the sudden turn in her mood, Billy attempted to restore her natural good cheer.

Cmon, he said, with a mischievous air. And he ran, slowly at first, so that Rosa would have

no difficulty keeping up. Still hand in hand, they ran a little and then stopped. With an instinct


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born out of their hearts longing, they knew which way to turn, and in the center of this green,

grass-covered dell, they turned about in circles, hand-in-hand, counterbalancing each others

weight, faster and faster, until they fell, exhausted and laughing onto the grass in the shade

provided by the trees.

They lay there, flat on their backs, feet together where they fell, watching the zinc-white

clouds overhead in contrast to the bright blue sky. Breathing heavily and occasionally giggling,

they said nothing and felt everything.

Billy sat up on his elbows. The lace and ruffles of Rosas white bloomers showed

beneath the hem of her skirt. He tried to look away, but realizing that she could not tell he was

looking, he found the enigmatic sight irresistible.

So if whenever theres a dance in town, or an ice-cream social, or something, you think

your mama would let me see you to it?

Rosa sat up and crossed her legs Indian style, pushing her dress down modestly between

her legs. She touched the back of her head, checking for dried grass or twigs.

I suppose so, she answered. But it would depend on ifI would want to have you

accompany me, or not. She batted her eyelashes, coyly, smiling at him.

Well, theres a social planned for next Saturday night, in town. May I call for you

then?

Oh, yes! Billy Holmes, you may call for me on Saturday night. She rolled forward

onto her knees, perched between his legs. He was still sitting up on his elbows. She planted her

hands in the grass on either side of him and stared straight into his eyes, playfully, as if she was

about to wrestle one of her brothers. And for a moment she felt uncertain as to the source of a


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sudden emotion that surged through her body, whether playful or something far more

mysterious.

Without thinking, Billy reached his face up towards hers and stole a kiss. Rosa gasped at

first, recovered, and then stole one back from him. She let her elbows go and fell onto him; they

rolled on the grass, like young children at play. Then he heard laughter coming from his own

chest, a kind of laughter he had never heard before coming from himself. Suddenly he sat bolt

upright. He felt awkward and confused by the feelings rushing through his body. His face

flushed. Rosas eyes glittered topaz, a gemstone he could only imagine. He felt himself being

drawn into her eyes. His heart thumped in his ribcage. Words caught in his throat. Like suitors

from time immemorial, he could not speak. Neither of them spoke. Their eyes met for a long

moment. They said nothing, but they looked at each other and wondered what had just

happened. And why, they both asked themselves, why did it seem like the blood in their veins

sang like the locusts in the cottonwood trees overhead?

Billy sat back on his heels and gave Rosa his hand. She took it and he stood, helping her

up.

Oh my, she said, Im afraid I may have mussed my dress. There were grass stains on

her backside and at her knees. She was still a girl and accustomed to playing roughhouse with

her younger brothers. She had forgotten herself with Bill Holmes.

They continued to hold hands as they walked home until the pair of farmhouses where

the Kelleys and the Holmeses lived came into view.


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So began Billys courtship with Rosa, Rose Mary Kelley. For years he worked regularly

on the Kelley farm. He ate nearly as many meals with the Kelleys as he did with his own family.

He learned to bow his head and genuflect at the beginning of each meal. Rosas parents, Frank

and Margaret, smiled approvingly as the two sat side by side on the Kelleys front porch swing.

Margaret brought them iced lemonade, but it just as often went begging, for they were first man

and first woman. No one else on earth existed but them. No drink or any other form of

sustenance was necessary other than each other.

Rosa finished grammar school at the top of her class but did not go to high school that

fall. She stayed home with Theresa, who had already started a career of helping their mother

around the house. Her brother Jim finished school a year later and became best friends with Bill

and Rosa. Jim was only a year younger than Rosa, so he could easily escort her to community

activities, acting the chaperone.

When threshing time came, the Kelleys and the Holmeses shared the same crew. Bill and

Jim worked as hard at either place. Bill saved most of what he made, hoping to find a future for

himself and Rosa. When the time came, he would ask Rosa to marry him and they would settle

somewhere and start a family of their own. They both wanted to have a house full of children.

In their youth and naivet, they believed everything possible.

One night in the summer of 1909, while sitting on the porch together at the Kelley place,

Bill asked, How many children do you want to have when you get married, Rosa?

Oh, I dont know. As many as the Good Lord sees fit to give us, I suppose, she replied.

Then... Bill started and stopped. She had said us. The word burned his ears. He would

have asked her to marry him right then, but there were problems.


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Thus empowered to broach the subject, she asked Bill if he had any thoughts on

Immaculate Conception.

I dont reckon I have any thoughts on that, he replied, neither word having made it into

his vocabulary by the age of twenty.

Well, what about the virgin birth? she pressed. Bill recognized the word virgin and

blushed.

I say its not possible, Rosa opined. The Holy Spirit lacks the physical capability to

have implanted its seed in the Virgin Mary. But my opinions could have gotten me burned at the

stake for heresy in years past, Rosa concluded.

Is the Pope the real commander of the armies in Europe? Bill asked.

No, of course not. The Pope is the Head of the Church. The Pope is the Vicar of

Christ.

The what?

The Vicar.The Vicar of Christ.

Whats that mean?

It means the he is the appearance of Christ among us. Bill was lost. He had not

attended church services when he was a child. Rosa obviously had. But the Kelleys had not

gone to Mass regularly since they got the farm by Langdon. There wasnt a Catholic church

within a manageable drive, and so they didnt go. Margaret Kelley prayed the Rosary every day,

though, and saw to it that her children learned their prayers.

Circuit riders serviced the Christian church in Langdon; men came to town once a month

or so and held meetings with the faithful. Though Bills mother had mandated his attendance at

those meetings, his participation, like many of the boys he grew up with, was minimal.So Bill


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followed his fathers lead and focused on trying to find work and get ahead by his hands and the

strength of his back. Like his father, Billdecided that religion was more the responsibility of the

women in the family. When he tried to imagine how life would look when he was grown up, that

only made matters worse.

Bill did not know what kind of life God had in mind for him. Langdon did not need

another mail carrier. There werent any homesteads left in that part of Kansas. Anyway, he had

grown up hearing the stories of the two years his parents and grandparents had struggled against

the elements in Western Kansas. Even now he could remember lying in bed at night, listening to

his father worry out loud about approaching storms as the wheat stood in the field, almost ready

for harvest. He remembered seeing his papa cry and curse God at the sight of dead cattle

beneath snowdrifts, cows pregnant and dead. To him, the life of a farmer seemed like only one

setback after another. He wanted something better for Rosa than his papa and Uncle Sherman

had had when they took their brides.

Without purpose in his life, nothing made very much sense for Bill. But that did not

matter while he sat on the porch swing with Rosa. Somehow, she had become his purpose. For a

few minutes at a stretch he could set his doubts and uncertainties aside while the two of them

rode the porch swing into a kind of shared bliss. The rest of the time he was too busy working or

too tired from working to give it all much thought.

These concerns could be tabled, at least temporarily. Rosas family received an

inheritance from an uncle in Illinois and Frank and Margaret agreed to take part of the money to

help Rosa get an education and perhaps a happy marriage with a good Catholic boy. She would

start school in Nickerson in the fall of 1909. So she and Bill would have some time to make

plans for the future.


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1 those that never sing

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