14 those that never sing

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Chapter Fourteen

Forward into Battle

So Abram rose, and clave the wood, and went, And took the fire with him, and a knife.

And as they sojourned both of them together, Isaac the first-born spake and said, My Father,

Behold the preparations, fire and iron, But where the lamb for this burnt-offering?

Then Abram bound the youth with belts and straps, And builded parapets and trenches there,

And stretched for the knife to slay his son.When lo! an angel called him out of heav¶n,

Saying, Lay not thy hand upon the lad, Neither do anything to him. Behold,

A ram, caught in a thicket by its horns;

Offer the Ram of Pride instead of him. But the old man would not so, but slew his son, --

And half the seed of Europe, one by one.

Wilfred Owen

³The Parable of the Old Man and the Young



By the time twenty-five-year -old Wilfred Owen died fr om enemy machine gun fire on

November 4th, 1918, he was just one of 8.5 million casualties in a war that had raged on f or so

long that even the winners would be losers, except f or the AEF. For the American f orces arrived

in time f or mo p up. But their glor y would come with a ver y high price. On September 12, Bill

entered the fray with the allies to r out the Germans fr om France at St. Mihiel. The Germans

expected the attack. They planned to smash the American f orces at a place called Woevre Plain.

Too late, they learned that allied f orces had amassed on both the German flanks; the Germans¶

retreat amounted to a shooting galler y f or the allied f orces, led by the American General ³Black

Jack´ Pershing, who watched the pr ogress perched on a height at the old FortGir onville.

St. Mihiel, France. September 12, 1918. 5:03 a.m.

The air was f oggy and drizzly, f oul with smoke and the faint co pper y smell of blood. Bill

awoke to the grey light and the sounds of movement in the camp, barely 60 kilometers south of

the border with Luxembourg. He remembered that he had not slept well during the night, but

figured he must have dozed fr om the stiffness he felt in his muscles and joints. He ar ose and

r olled up his kit bef ore heading to a makeshift latrine. No pissoires here, he thought.

The Sergeant barked orders at the men as the tr oo ps headed out. Allied artiller y had

bombed German positions all night. Bill heard the rustling of rucksacks the men carried on their

backs, and the sucking sounds made by the heels of their high-to pped boots as they marched

thr ough slipper y mud. Few words went between the men who tr omped out in uneasy



anticipation. Bill felt his stomach churn and moisture f ormed on his br ow and cheeks and nose

as he looked out upon the grisly horizon that lay ahead.

Within the hour, Bill and the other men in the outfit crawled on their bellies, like crabs,

sidling acr oss the cold gr ound of no-man¶s-land that surr ounded them. When they reached the

first trench, panting, they jumped into it, relieved to be alive, and waited f or someone to give

more orders. They had not yet fired a shot. Distant explosions, occurring at random, punctuated

the eerie quiet in the trench. The men spoke in soft voices, r olled cigarettes and smoked them.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the order came down the line to advance. Men scaled the

fr ont wall of the trench in waves and made their way on f oot, holding their rifles in fr ont of them.

The wet earth, thick with mud, held their boots as if it were their mothers, telling the men not to

go on, tr ying unsuccessfully to hold them back.

9:48 a.m.

When Bill and the men reached the second line of trenches, the sun showed up only as a

diffused brightnessunable to pierce the cloud cover or the gray atmosphere created by the black

smoke of ominous fires burning helter skelter acr oss their line of sight. No shadows delineated

the landscape; Bill saw only flat light on the monochr omatic visage of burned-out trees, skeletal

buildings, and br oken vehicles against the somber firmament overhead and the rich umber of the

mud under f oot.

Bill dr o pped against the fr ont wall of the trench, next to his buddy, the cock y little Texan,

R owland. They both r olled smokes and shared the same match lighting them. R owland looked

at his cigarette and said, ³Shit, man, if this don¶t beat all.´



Bill took a deep drag and asked, ³Where you think the Kraut bastards have gone this

morning?´

³To hell, f or all I care. Somebody said they already on the way back to Berlin.´

³That would make it easier.´ Bill took a swig fr om his canteen and offered it to his

buddy.

³Remains to be seen.´ R owland cocked his head back and took a drink, then handed the

canteen back to Bill. Bef ore they could finish their cigarettes, the call came in with orders to

advance. The men took deep drags and threw the butts into the slew that ran beneath the palettes

on the floor of the trench. Then they strapped their rifles onto their backs and prepared to climb

out of the trenches. They fired no shots as they ran towards the next trench, nearly doubled over.

Running like hunchbacks would make them smaller targets, if not invisible.

10:27 a.m.

Bill heard a whistling sound overhead and then an explosion came suddenly, as if out of

nowhere, a hundred yards or so to the right of his line of sight. The sound of soldiers screaming

came next, over the clatter of dirt and r ocks hitting the earth. The rest of the men hit the gr ound

as if in response and crawled on their bellies with a new sense of reality and fear in their eyes.

³What the fuck was that?´ R owland asked when they f ound the safety of the next trench.

The smell of feces assaulted their senses. They looked up and down the line and saw what

appeared to be raw sewage filling the gr ound below the palettes on which they sat and waited.

³Artiller y. They¶ve got cannons up ahead. It¶s what we been hearing all morning, but

now they¶ve f ound us « .´ Bill sensed something moving at his feet. ³Oh shit! Goddamn it!´

Bill recoiled as a rat, the size of a fat farm cat, ran acr oss the boards in fr ont of him. The rat



scurried on his way, unperturbed, as if it f ound nothing uncommon about this morning, neither

the men, nor the noise. The rat just wanted f ood f or its belly and expected that someone would

be left behind, somewhere down the way.

R owland laughed maliciously, ³Little fucker¶s just hungr y, that¶s all. Too bad the Fr og

ar -till-erar y didn¶t take their fuckin¶ rats back to Gay Paree with them.´ Then, looking ruefully

at the mayhem behind them where the blast had occurred, he said, ³May be they just got luck y

over there. May be they just shootin¶ random. Come see²come saw.´ R owland¶s voice had a

manic edge.

To Bill the whole trench seemed like a dream, an insane asylum. An asylum fr om which

he could not escape; a dream fr om which he could not awaken. A flash marked another

explosion that closed the trench a hundred yards down the way. More screams thr ough the

rumble of falling earth. The rat had run the wr ong way.

11:04 a.m.

The men in Bill¶s outfit f ollowed orders to advance to the next trench when the shelling

abated. Further down the field of battle, Bill watched a dozen men, Germans in unif orm, emerge

fr om the woods beyond the army¶s current target, their hands in the air. One of the Germans

held a severed branch fr om a blackened tree with what seemed to be a white undershirt, smudged

black and gray. Bill could see their eyes behind the black smudges that camouflaged their

identities. They appeared slight of build; their unif orms fit loosely.

One of the men shouted, ³Wirübergeben!´ another, ³ Freunde!´ Bill did not understand

the words, but took their meaning. They carried their rifles on their backs. Fr om somewhere

down the line, Bill heard the report of a rifle, and one of the Germans fell. The rest sto pped dead



in their tracks. Bill could see the look of terr or in their faces. So this is the German army, he

thought, as they raised their arms higher, almost in unison. An American commander ordered,

³Hold your fire!´

³Great idea,´ R owland muttered. ³This could turn out to be a goddamn ambush.´ But

the Americans held their fire, still pointing their rifles, aimed at the German men.

Bill heard one of the American officers shout something to the surrendering soldiers in German.

All he could make out fr om the Germans was the word ³kameraden.´

The Kaiser¶s men threw down their guns on the gr ound in fr ont of them and walked

cautiously towards the American tr oo ps. Without warning, at the edge of the clearing, a lone

gunman o pened up fire fr om a machine gun nest and mowed down a dozen Americans within his

range. The remaining American tr oo ps dr o pped to their knees and o pened up fire. In a minute,

the gunner fell dead, as did the German soldiers who had only ho ped to make it home in time f or

Weihnachten, caught in the cr ossfire as they attempted to surrender.

The Americans headed out again, double time, towards the next trench, vainly seeking to

dodge incoming shells that whistled in at random.

12:02 p.m.

Bill¶s heart raced and his breathing sounded as if he had just completed a hundred yard

dash. Since day break he had seen more death than he had ever imagined as a farm boy back in

Kansas. He f ollowed the rest of his company into the next trench and dove f or cover as another

cannon shell exploded behind them. He heard the engines of American aer o planes flying

overhead and looked sk yward to see the f ormation. Bill reached f or his to bacco tin, and then he

realized that the soldier beside him was not R owland, nor even an American. He recognized the



blue unif orm of the French army, but Bill did not think this soldier looked much older than

Speck, wearing the unif orm of the French army. The arms of his coat covered his hands. He was

just a kid. What was a kid doing, alone in a trench during a major offensive, somewhere in the

north of France?

³J e ne veux pas mourir! J e ne veux pas mourir! J e ne veux pas mourir!´The boy cried,

frantic, so bbing, his eyes pleading with Bill.³J e ne veux pas mourir! J e ne veux pas mourir! J e

ne veux pas mourir!´ Bill had no idea what the lad wanted to say, but in any language he would

have understood that this was a terrified child in a man¶s unif orm, lost in a war, abandoned by

his cohorts. The French army had held this territor y in the days and weeks bef ore, but their army

had retreated, replaced by the American f orces. Bill wondered how long this boy had waited

here f or someone to find him. He should be in school somewhere, not on a battlefield, Bill

thought. He f olded the boy into his arms and tried to comf ort him. The boy quieted, but

continued to so b. Bill looked into his face and saw in his dark hair and eyes a reflection of

himself beyond the tear -streaked dirt that smudged his cheeks.

³It¶s okay, fella,´ Bill said in a comf orting voice. ³You¶re going to be okay.´

The call came down the line to leave the trench and advance further down the field. Bill

put his rifle onto his back in preparation f or the climb out, but the French boy grabbed at the hem

of Bill¶s overcoat and looked up into Bill¶s face.

³ Ne pas partir,´ the boy said in a desperate voice, ³ Ne pas me laisserici!´

³Don¶t worr y,´ Bill said. ³Someone will be along to get you. I¶ve got to go now.´ The

boy looked up at Bill with no message of comprehension in his eyes, only a blank, desperate

stare. µIf I had a son,¶ Bill thought, µwould he look like that? Will I ever have a son?¶ he

wondered, not sure if he would even draw breath by tomorr ow.



12:29 p.m.

The shelling intensified as the men made their way to the next o bjective. Sunlight

seemed to emanate fr om high in the sk y, though o bscured by smoke. The air remained cold and

damp; it smelled like the inside of a machine sho p, oily, stale and f oul. Bill checked to make

sure he had his gas mask firmly tied to his belt and wondered what the mustard gas would smell

like bef ore he died. Instead of another trench, he saw a r ow of buildings, shattered by bombing,

bricks piled in on them. Was that St.Mihiel, Bill wondered. Why all the fuss about a bombed

out village? As they appr oached, he realized that it was not a village, but what was once a farm

house, its outbuildings now shattered, its animals dead or run away. As Bill looked ahead to the

outpost, he stumbled on something in his path and looked down to see a blackened, dismembered

hand sticking out of the sleeve of a filthy blue unif orm. Bill gagged and stifled his reaction when

he realized what he had stepped on, but then ran on with the rest of the men, towards the next

outpost of the day.

Bill f ound R owland sitting under a tree, his back against the trunk, eating fr om a brick of

cheese, like it was a sandwich.

³Where¶d that come fr om?´ Bill asked. R owland cut mold off with his pocket knife and

chewed a mouthful of cheese. He pointed with his knife to a cellar door adjacent to the base of

the bombed out farm house. A couple of men handed out cheeses that the farmer had evidently

abandoned, that somehow neither the French nor the German invaders had discovered. Bill

turned and walked over to the cellar. He had just reached it when he heard the whistle of an

incoming shell. Instinctively, he dove f or the gr ound and felt it shake bef ore clods of dirt and

r ocks pummeled him and dust settled into the sweat that beaded up on the back of his neck. In



the silence that f ollowed he ar ose and felt the warmth of his own blood streaming down his

cheek. He had taken a shard of shrapnel at his cheekbone. Not a significant cut, no purple heart

f or Bill. He looked ar ound and called out with a grin to R owland, ³I¶m hit!´ he joked. But only

a crater remained where the tree had stood and Bill saw no sign of the little Texan. ³R owland?´

Bill called, not loud enough f or R owland to have heard, but R owland had disappeared, gone.

³They got my buddy,´ Bill said, staring, stunned, as he took a cheese fr om the soldier

standing at the to p of stairs to the cave fr om which he had liberated the cheese.

³Yeah, well they got mine, too,´ the soldier gr owled, without sympathy, leaning ar ound

to hand another cheese to the man behind Bill in line. In shock, Bill shuffled over to the side of a

demolished f oundation and sat, watching as the medics searched f or body parts in the area where

the tree had stood. The enormity of R owland¶s sudden disappearance left Bill stunned, but he

peeled some of the wax off the cheese , cut out a wedge, and chewed it slowly, watching the

cleanup pr oceed. Looking back towards the crater where the tree once stood, Bill saw that the

corpsmen had gathered several good size clumps of olive drab wool, stained black with blood.

That¶s all that¶s left of R owland, Bill thought. He knew nothing about R owland¶s family, or

where in Texas Odessa was. Did he have a mother or a sister at home, he thought, remembering

his own. Or a lover?remembering R osa. He did not know where to write to express

condolences, nor what he would say if he did. Branches of the tree lay scattered at the perimeter

of the bombsite. Bill eyed a black army boot, its heel and sole pointed towards him, lying on its

side. He watched as a medic made the discover y too, picked it up casually, and tossed it into the

mound of R owland.

1:22 p.m.



Most of the advancing infantr y carried their rifles slung over their shoulders as they

moved out that afternoon, acr oss badly br oken gr ound, past whole villages deserted, reduced to

rubble. More Germans emerged fr om their dugouts with their hands in the air and surrendered

en masse. Bill watched the unraveling of the war as it played out bef ore him, ever war y f or

snipers or random artiller y shells. Thinking of R owland, Bill mused philoso phically, µI guess if

it¶s your time to go, it¶s your time to go.¶ He wondered when it would be his time and imagined

that he might do something her oic in the passing²save someone¶s life, capture a machine

gunner. Or just survive, return home and learn to f orget that this day had ever happened.

The offensive liberated 200 square miles of French territor y, captured 257 guns and

15,000 prisoners. American casualties pr oved light at first, but they f ound no trenches beyond

the bombed out farmstead. As they advanced in the o pen, they f ound boo by-traps and met

retreating German f orces, still armed with machine guns. Abandoned ammunition dumps

became portals to disaster until the Americans destr oyed them in rumbling explosions, thr owing

boiling clouds of black smoke into the air, visible f or miles ar ound.

3:06 p.m.

Bill heard the engine r oar of aer o planes again and looked up at the sk y, but this time they

were not American flyers. The German planes strafed the American soldiers fr om treeto p levels.

The infantr ymen ran f or cover and took aim with their rifles, but their guns pr oved useless

against the aircraft. Bill watched as the bullets created poufs of dust hitting the gr ound but

winced as they created red explosions in the chests of American soldiers. The Yanks returned

fire using stump-mounted heavy Maxims abandoned by the German infantr y. After a while the

planes flew away and did not return. The soldiers gathered their dead and wounded and arranged



them like cordwood on the sides of the r oad, dead on one side, wounded on the other. The

wounded lay bleeding with makeshift tourniquets and splints f or shattered bones, waiting f or

clumsy Ford trucks, converted f or the purpose, with large white circles painted on the canvas

sides and red cr osses that served as targets f or the enemy aircraft.

By half - past f our, they made camp in the f orest and measured their lives against what

they had already endured. Somehow a mess truck got thr ough with f ood to make an evening

meal. The men camped in the o pen and under trees f or the night, lying on damp gr ound. The

luck y ones f ound mossy patches on the north sides of trees and imagined it a mattress. In their

dreams they slept in beds thousands of miles away. None of this had really happened. Bill lay on

his blanket r oll and stared at the sk y, but saw no stars. He remembered the kick of his rifle on

his shoulder and the look on the face of a blond-headed, blue-eyed German who held his hands

high as he fell walking towards the line of American soldiers, asking in German to surrender so

that he could go home.

The next day they captured more territor y as the Germans continued to flee. Abandoned

cellars held stores of excellent wines and cognac, but the enemy¶s kitchens revealed that they had

subsisted on horse meat and potatoes black with r ot.

A week after St. Mihiel, the army posted mail call. Bill received several letters fr om

home, newspapers, and other correspondence. He carried the mail he received to a tree and sat

on his helmet to read. Tears f ormed in his eyes as he read the news fr om home. When he



finished, he took time to write home on YMCA stationar y. The postmark on the envelo pe reads

29SEP1918. The back side of the envelo pe bears this insignia:

NATIONAL

WAR WORK COUNCIL

ARMY AND NAVY

YOUNG MEN·S CHRISTIAN ASSOCIATON

´WITH THE COLORSµ

Sept 19 1918

Dear Mother and all²

Yes I think I have gotten all your letters and all the rest. We have had a nicebunch of mail. I just read letters and news of all kinds and am hoping you also have

been reading the good news of your American boys in the papers.

Believe me mother, those dirty Bosche can do two or three things: They can runlike the devil, work a machine gun, and holler Kamerad! Outside of that they are rotten.

Before going farther get your calendar and just put a great big mark on Sept 12and proclaim it a holiday. For it will live long in the hearts of anyone who happened tobe in hearing distance and for those who happened to be in seeing distance. Well it will

never be forgotten.

We are out for a rest again. I am feeling good and surely hope you folks are as

well. I have letters from so many I don¶t know when I will ever get caught up. I rec¶d three from Ramsey, two from you, two from Vesta, one from Delphos and many others.

So Fay thinks he will enlist in the Navy. Well I haven¶t anything to say only wish I could talk to him for I believe I might help him. It will be hard to start with but once heis used to his work he will make it alright. I wouldn¶t mind the Navy myself. For one

thing is certain, you have a good place to sleep and eat, and in the army you have it just catch as catch can. At present I am setting on my helmet by my Pup tent leaning against an ancient old tree. Something different from the Navy.

Mother, I will have to ring off for I am too scattered to write a very sensible letter

this morning. So with love to all I will close as ever, your Son and Bro Bill

Eight months later, as she rested on the wicker chaise lounge outside the screened porch

at the back of the little house in Langdon, Josie f olded the letter Bill wr ote on September 19.



She tried to imagine the Battle of St. Mihiel, f or which he had received a Battle Bar f or his

Service Medal. She put it back into its envelo pe and retrieved a letter fr om Bill¶s Sergeant

Ho pkins. She sat with her feet upon the wicker chaise lounge, outside the screened porch at the

back of the house. The smell of the lilac bushes in full bloom wrapped ar ound her. It was the

last Sunday of May and the rest of the family would arrive soon f or the Memorial Day dinner.

But Josie was lost in her thoughts. She did not hear or respond to the sounds of the house wrens

singing, nor the soft cooing of the mourning dove perched on the highest branches of the crab

apple tree. She ignored the sounds Vesta made in the kitchen as she hurried to complete last-

minute preparations f or the noonday meal. She felt the onion-skin paper of Ho pkins¶ letter

between her soft, withering fingers²ty ped neatly with perfect spelling and elocution. Sergeant

Ho pkins had served with Bill thr ough the last days of the war. His letter had come a few days

bef ore; he described a chance encounter with her son that left Josie unable to speak each time she

read it. As Memorial Day appr oached, she had f ound herself reading Sergeant Ho pkins¶ letter

again and again, drifting more and more frequently into her solitar y reveries.

Due to a blockade of traffic his outfit passed mine ±passing over the to p of a hill justoutside of Martincourt, I might say that in glancing up this hill r oad, many sights were

seen, shells bursting, mud, r ocks flying, horses, wagons, trucks and men disappearing.But such things as that do not sto p AMERICAN soldiers who are fighting f or a just

cause.

I heard someone yell ±Hello Ho p ± and hold his hand high so I could pick him outquickly. It was Bill, my friend Bill, just all smiling fr om ear to ear. I ran to him and had

about a three minutes talk, wished him well and returned to my outfit which f ollowedthem over the to p.

Next meeting was after the drive only f or a half a minute, the last time ± he looked the

result of hard fighting, clothes torn fr om barbed wire entanglements, besmeared fr omhead to f oot with mud, lines of fatigue were easily traced in his expression.

The radiant sunshine smile br oke fr om behind and beneath his muddy face like the sun

rising in the East, and the words exchanged were ³Ah! We¶ve met again!´ It meant more



to us than I can write because when one meets his friends after having gone thru a livinghell, there are no words to tell that feeling.

Josie held the letter as if she continued to read it, but she only stared at it. Her eyes did not f ocus

on the words. She felt the sting of tears f orming on her eyes and pressure in her nose as she

stifled the urge to weep again. She wiped her nose and eyes on the end of her apr on and ar ose.

No time f or this. Vesta would need help inside. Ever yone would arrive soon, she thought.

In less than two weeks f ollowing the mo p-up at St. Mihiel, the Americans prepared f or

the final offensive in the ArgonneForest. The allied f orces numbered 820,000 in all. The

Germans believed that the next great battle would take place either toward Metz or in Alsace, but

their intelligencers discovered the movement of tr oo ps north fr om St. Mihiel to Verdun and

concluded that the battle would unf old near Metz. So they barricaded the fr ont with wire, steel,

and concrete bulwarks. They created f our successive defense belts, ten miles deep along the

MeuseRiver. The terrain itself, consisting of many switchbacks and spurs, did not lend itself to

battle. Tree covered heights of the Argonne woods dominated the valley below that the

American tr oo ps would have to occupy. The enemy looked right down the Americans¶ thr oats.

The battle o pened on September 26 with a three hour Allied bombardment that began at

5:30 a.m. Bill advanced with the others under the cover of hundreds of Allied planes. The

constant dr one of the aer o planes made the scene surreal. Americans had come to the offensive

with a numerical superiority of eight to one, but after a week of constant fighting, the Germans



had reduced the odds to even up. American f orces offered too bright a target to be missed. The

terrain offered too great an advantage and the Germans fled fr om no one.

The Signal Corps left St. Mihiel and holed up f or a few days¶ rest, arriving at Dieulouard

on September 19, just one week after the third and final registration f or the draft back home,

stateside. The boys gorged on cheese and sausage and beer. They watched the local winemakers

tr omp their grapes baref ooted. Finally, they headed to the fr ont at Tr onde on the last day of the

month bef ore heading into the ³Wood,´ as it was called, on Octo ber 4. During a lull in the

fighting, Bill took the time to write a letter to the f olks back home.

ON ACTIVE SERVICEWITH THE

AMERICAN EXPEDITIONARY FORCEOct 2 1918


Have some spare time and will send you a few lines even if I haven¶t rec¶d a letter for a few days and have written since. I expect some mail this evening for we are to behere a few days.

I have read a few of your letters this morn and want to say again I think I haverec¶d most of yours and the clippings are fine, I think most every one of yours have had clippings in them and say in regard to the boys who are weak. Don¶t be too hard on themnow. For they will get theirs when the boys return. It is everyone¶s duty to jump inwithout hesitation and volunteer to carry a rifle. For the boys who have given their lives

over here. They all carried the great American spirit and a man at home now who sayshe can¶t give up and go is not a man. He is a mere trifle.

I have seen our boys laying in shell craters with an arm or leg gone, others

laying out with their faces turned heavenward who left important vacancies at home²left mothers, fathers, wives and children and when a man claims exemption now he is a cave

man or in other words a coward.

Oh no, I am not brave. I have run for a cave. I have fallen in shell holes, flat onthe ground, been covered up with dirt and got a couple of pieces of something in my leg

and another below my eye. Not bad, but enough that when I come face to face with aman who has stayed at home because he could sneak around it, I will never fear him and think I can give him a very dirty sneer.



Enough²for I expect the censor will cut out half of this.

We all feel pretty foxy as Bulgaria has given up. Von Hertling has quit and it might come to pass that one Kaiser might quit soon. But now we are going to keep

plugging away to make sure.

I will close. So send me all the news you can and I will remember you every dayWith love to all and best wishes I am your Son and Bro

Bill

The Signal Corps arrived in the Argonne Forest on Octo ber 5 and realized almost

immediately the dire straits the allied f orces faced. But unknown to the men engaged in the

battle f or the Argonne, the Germans had lost gr ound badly on all other fr onts. By the date of

Bill¶s letter, a message received at the Reichstag warned the Kaiser of imminent defeat. On

Octo ber 3 in Berlin, Hindenburg speculated that German tr oo ps might defend German soil until

spring, but insisted that a peace offer be made to the Allies at once.

On Octo ber 4, the Western Fr ont exploded again, Prince Max von Baden succeeded to

Chancellor, and sent this cable to Woodr ow Wilson,

³TO AVOID FURTHER BLOODSHED, THE GERMAN GOVERNMENT

REQUESTS THE PRESIDENT TO ARRANGE THE IMMEDIATE CONCLUSION

OF AN ARMISTICE ON LAND, BY SEA AND IN THE AIR.´

Wilson contemplated the surrender f or days. The devout Presbyterian intellectual and f ormer

President of Princeton University needed time to f ormulate a decent and orderly response to von

Baden¶s plea. For nearly two weeks Wilson refused to notif y the Allies of this drastic

develo pment in the course of the war. Chancellor von Baden¶s cable would have caused the

German Army to collapse in its boots. Instead, the war dragged on.

On Octo ber 8th, German machine gunners ambushed American tr oo ps, killing or

wounding almost all. But one American corporal, Alvin York, managed to pick off the machine



gunners with his rifle fr om a kneeling position and captured the remaining enemy soldiers.

Somehow he managed to r ound up the German survivors and marched them back to camp.

On Octo ber 10th

, a German U Boat sank a passenger vessel off the IrishCoast. Three

hundred civilian passengers lost their lives. The same day, German torpedos sank the mail boat

Leinster, killing 520 persons, mostly women and children. Wilson finally acknowledged the

Allied victor y on Octo ber 14th

, but the war raged on while the politicians and diplomats debated

the terms of its conclusion.

The Signal Corps left the Argonne Woods on Octo ber 10th

and the Army issued each man

a coupon which could be used by his family back home to ship a Christmas parcel overseas. Bill

had time to write, and he needed to get his coupon to the f olks back home. Bill¶s excitement

filled his letter to his family as he looked f orward to Thanksgiving and Christmas at home.

Somewhere in FranceOctober 11, 1918

Dearest Mother and all--:

Am sending you a Christmas coupon to put on a package. So now you see I am getting pretty important just sending you an order for a pkg. Ha Ha! But you see a fellow gets only one coupon and I knew you would be disappointed if you didn¶t get to send one.

I am feeling fine and hoping that peace will come soon, but say, I go to sleepevery night hearing peace stories in gob lots and when I awake in the morn a new line of

proposals are sailing at a very lively clip.

Oh yes, it¶s a merry life, but believe me the boys are giving those dirty hounds a grand taste of American fighting spirit and ammunition.

I have received many letters here of late. J ust can¶t keep up by half, but tell all I will write when I can. I get to write about one to your two it seems. I honestly think youhave done your part in writing. I dreamed last night I rec¶d a letter from Fay and did

receive two from Vesta. I haven¶t written her for some time and she does so well too. I can only send her one to her three.

My buddy who I barbered with in Texas, the company tailor, he got a machinebullet thru his knee our last trip over but not bad. He is at the hospital.



I have to go to work so with love and best wishes, I am as ever your son and Bro

Bill

The coupon about which Bill had written did arrive, but the deadline f or shipping Bill¶s

Christmas package had already come and gone when Vesta o pened his letter and f ound the

Christmas Package Coupon on the day bef ore Thanksgiving. She returned f or the weekend on

November 27, having recently taken a new jo b working in the office at the Staff ord Flour Mill

Company, a half day¶s drive fr om Langdon. After reading his letter on Thanksgiving Eve she

wr ote.

At home, November 27, 1918

Dear Brother Bill,

I came home this afternoon to spend Thanksgiving and also the remainder of theweek at home. I¶m very thankful. Mr. Koster let me come on the condition that I takehim half a hog or something of the kind when I returned. I solemnly promised.

Then, I must tell you what I did about your Christmas box. Your coupon did not reach here until this very morning. Papa and mama had given up receiving it before theend of the month so they procured a box from Mrs. Cole on Monday of this week and sent it to me thinking I could better fill it at Stafford where there was a greater supply of

things to select from. It was such a hurried selection as I don¶t have much time, that I want to send my love to you herein, because the contents of the box do not fully express it.

I did not know that they were going to send it or I could have planned something better.



You know what a poor place Langdon is to get things you want. Stafford is about the same. Please don¶t condemn us too harshly. I had to sign an affidavit that I was your nearest blood relative also filled out the address, in order to get their inspection at the Red Cross rooms at Stafford. But they were very obliging, asked no questions, that is,

only the necessary ones, and the box was sent out by them this afternoon. I placed the

stamps on it that were required to take it to Hoboken.

Of course, I have not heard from you direct for a long, long time, and I certainlywas glad to get here to read your letters to mama. I am quite anxious to have word,written since the Armistice, but presume that you are in the American occupation army. I

mean following up the Germans.

We have been trying some winter weather here. But the snow melts almost asquickly as it falls. Everything was beautiful this morning. There was just enough snow

on the trees and bushes and houses to be real pretty. And it was just right to snow ball,but I had to be grown up and could not. Also as I was on my way to work this morning, I

saw a car pulling three boys on sleds behind a car. They were having fine sport. I would have enjoyed a nice sleigh ride too.

I had rather a delightful little drive yesterday just after lunch. But it could have

been better. I did not have a hatpin in my hat ± the top was down and he drove forty and forty-five miles an hour. Two mechanics board where I do. One is married. He and his

wife, the other mechanic, George and I, were the party.

The ³ flu´ still rages. That is, I should say ± it is raging again. Schools, movies,and shows were opened but now they have to close up again with greater restrictions

than before. Papa has taken care of a family over west of here, and he was up all night last night himself. He went to sleep quite early tonight. Seems to me like I¶ve been bymyself for an hour now. I knitted some, then decided I would write to you.

I am hoping that I can tear around tomorrow just as I please. If the day is at all fit, I want to be outside. I shall dress in a suit of Fay¶s and chase rabbits on Blaze, and

other equally graceful things. Honestly, there has been no chance for excitement anywhere so I think I¶ll manufacture some tomorrow. I am going to Hutchinson Friday,the first time since leaving there September 30. I suppose I shall spend some of my hard earned cash.

My eyes are inclined to close and my fingers are rather indifferent so had better stop when I can do it well.

Your loving sister,

Vesta



The next morning, bef ore she basted the turkey and put it into the oven, Vesta f olded her

letter, put it into a stamped envelo pe and addressed it to Bill. After she sealed the flap, she wr ote

acr oss the seal,

³Snowed again last night!´

Bill and the Signal Corp only enjoyed a brief respite fr om fighting after they returned

fr om the Argonne Wood, f or on Octo ber 11th they returned to the fr ont where they f ought in the

Meuse Offensive in the face of the almost insurmountable odds that the German defense had

placed bef ore them. The timeline he kept in the pocket scripture booklet records that after

leaving ³Battle Line´ on Octo ber 22 they arrived in Martincourt the next day.

Bill left the encampment at the Meuse suffering fr om exhaustion and dysenter y. Half the

tr oo ps required immediate hospitalization f or symptoms. Bill might have gone too, but he stayed

with the men, figuring a little rest would cure him. He resisted attempts to remand him to a base

hospital; he decided he had had enough of hospitals in Texas. He did not know that an epidemic,

later suspected by some be bubonic plague, carriedin the trenches of Northern Franceas

influenza, would become the final insult of the war. He lived in a pup tent under shell fire fr om

the Meuse Offensive until November 4th

, when the Signal Corps moved out with one of the

Battalions. On November 10, the day bef ore the signing of the Armistice, Bill finally entered the

Base Hospital at Allerey, in the Loire Valley, too sick to travel further with the other men.

A few days later a pretty nurse br ought Bill his first letter fr om home, postmarked

Emporia, KS. She had fair complexion and ginger hair almost completely covered by her hood



and cowl, but Bill lay in a fever, barely able to breath, so he did not recognize her at first, or

associate her fair skin and red hair with anyone at home. Bill¶s younger br other, Fay, wr ote fr om

school at EmporiaCollege on stationar y the color of an Army unif orm. His words suggested the

ambitions of an articulate young man who had recently declared his intention to join the militar y.

EmporiaKansas K.S.N. Barracks S.A.T.C.October 5, 1918.

Dear Brother: Bill, did you think I had forgotten you because I never did write? Well I haven¶t

not by a long sight. But you see, before I left for school, I always let the responsibility shift upon mother. But now she cannot do it for me so I thought I had better begin.

You know they are letting all men between 18 and 20 and above 21, go to school and at the same time join the army provided they are high school graduates. It is called the S.A.T.C. I expect you have read about it if you get the Hutch papers. We get everything furnished and $30 per month, the same as they do in the Army. To be exact,

we are in the Army.The only difference is we go to school instead of drilling so much. If we make

good we are either sent to an officers Training school or kept in school to becometechnical experts. If we don¶t make good, we are shot into some cantonment as a buck private. Believe me, I intend to make good.

Oh yes, I am playing on the football team here. We go to K.U. next Saturday.That is, I will if some one doesn¶t beat me out of my place before then. I got my leg twisted last night in scrimmage and am hobbling around on one leg today. But it all comes in a lifetime and I¶m in the Army nor or will be Monday. I get out of two hours of

drill every day by playing football, however. So that helps a little. We have a finecompany here and fine officers.

From what I hear you are stationed 40 feet under the sod as hello girl. Must beafraid a sniper will pick you off. Ha. Ha. Well I think I would rather be there than ontop of the ground.

Well I have told you about all I know about myself so will close. Oh yes, Albert Dralle that was killed was an old schoolmate of mine and he was a mighty fine fellow too.Write soon if possible.



Brothers, Fay and Bill, c. 1916

Bill f olded the letter and smiled

weakly. Br other Fay. In college?Football?

Bill had not gone to high school. All this

had happened while he had been away.

What a great kid, he thought. ³Hello girl?´

When was that? The army had br ought in

women to man the phones months ago. Or

was it just weeks? Those early weeks in

France, his first jo b in the Signal Corps had

him answering the telephone line that had

been strung to and fr om the fr ont. Hello

Girl had become a dream fr om which he had

long since awakened. He had not wig-

wagged since summer. The nurse sto pped by Bill¶s cot as he struggled to insert the letter back

into its envelo pe. ³Can I help you with that?´ she said, smiling. Her voice sounded like distant

church bells on a warm summer morning.

³Never thought there¶d be a day when I would be too weak to put a letter back into the

envelo pe it came out of,´ he said, between labored breaths.

³I¶m Annie. Annie Gosman.´

³Nurse Annie. My name¶s Bill. You don¶t sound like a local.´

³No,´ she smiled, ³Kansas City. Been there?´

³Got married there. But the town¶s no worse f or it.´



³Where¶s your family, Bill?´ Annie was ver y sweet. Pretty, even. He noticed her teeth,

straight and white. Her lips were the color of a seashell he saw once in a display window in New

York. New York? When was that?

³Langdon.RenoCounty. Heard of it?´

³Been there.RenoCounty, that is. Hutchinson.´

³I played baseball in Hutchinson.´ Bill managed a collegial grin. A little of his familiar

charm managed its way thr ough his fever.

She smiled and nodded.

³So what are you doing here?´ Bill asked.

³Oh, I needed to go somewhere. No body at home anymore.´ He detected no accent or

regional dialect. The sounds of her words made her seem worldly and so phisticated.

³You¶re too pretty not to be married.´

³I was married. We had a child. First I lost my husband, then I lost our son. I just

needed to live somewhere else, where I could put my pr o blems in perspective.´

³Did it work?´

³Some days are better than others.´

³You look familiar to me.´ Annie imagined that she saw sincerity in Bill¶s eyes, but

suspected it was an act. ³I could hang my wash on that line,´ she said.

³No, really. You do.´

³You look familiar too. But it¶s a ver y distant familiar.´ A faint smile played on her

lips. ³Was it another life?´

³May be so. Say, kid, you think you could rustle up some paper f or me to write home to

my little mama and my baby br others?´



³Sure.´ Annie disappeared and returned in minutes with single piece of paper and an

envelo pe f or him to use, but he had fallen asleep. She left them on to p of the table beside his

bed, touched his f orehead pushing his chestnut colored hair away. He felt warm to the touch.

Too warm.

Later, Bill f ound the paper and picked it up. He wr ote with an unsteady hand.

Somewhere in France Nov. 16, ¶18


After a month¶s time I will drop you a line or two. I am in a hospital, not

wounded, but have been a sick human. My stomach and a little touch of the grippe, but am feeling pretty bright this morn.

I don¶t know when I will leave for the boys stay around for quite a while.

Bill sto pped writing and gazed f or a long time out the window acr oss the way. A few members

of the hospital staff made a funeral pr ocession to the cemeter y ato p the hill which overlooked a

river that Bill did not know the name of, but could see in the distance. Even fr om his bed he

recognized Annie among the mourners in the funeral cortege. He continued.

I don¶t suppose I will ever get my Christmas package, just my luck.

The Red Cross lady only gave me a sheet of paper and one envelope, so you know I am alive.

Your son and Bro. Bill

Bill f olded the letter but left it on his chest, too exhausted to face putting it into the

envelo pe, sealing it and addressing it. He dozed f or a while in the stuff y confines of the ward he

occupied with so many other men, each in various stages of distress. Hacking and wheezing was

the sound of their lives, between fitful sleeping and night sweats.



After their initial conversations, Nurse Gosman checked in on Bill regularly after she

reviewed the case load with the nursing staff each morning. It became a r outine. She looked

f orward to the way he watched her when they talked. His eyes f ollowed her as she moved

ar ound his bed, even though he peered out at her over dark circles that underscored the severity

of his illness. On the day bef ore Thanksgiving, she decided he needed a shave. With nearly 80

men in the ward and only sixteen staff, including the ambulance driver, the doctors (who did

little hands on, day-to-day care) and the novices who qualified only to carr y bedpans, the

demands of the ward left little time to pr ovide much more than minimal personal hygiene f or the

patients, let alone personal gr ooming. So when she appr oached Bill as he slept this morning with

a basin of warm water and a razor in the pocket of her apr on, she pulled the curtains ar ound his

bed to aff ord them some measure of privacy. It would not be fair to the other patients to see her

bathing and shaving Bill when they could see that he was in no worse shape than the others and

they could not all expect to be treated in such a manner.

When he awoke, Bill had no idea how long he had slept. He saw daylight outside, but he

had no sense of the time. A rustling noise beside him caused him to turn instinctively, but

motion came slowly and left him feeling dizzy. He looked up and smiled faintly; his eyes

sparkled in the morning sunlight that poured thr ough the window behind him. Annie set the

basin on the table beside the bed and put her hand on his arm.

³That was a good nap, P.F.C. Holmes. How are we doing this morning? Would you like

to tr y something to eat?´



³Not now.´ Bill¶s voice came as little more than a whisper between labored, shallow

breaths. ³Whatyou got in mind this morning Nurse Annie?Pulling the curtains together and all.´

He tried to make it sound like a suggestive joke.

³How about a little ice?´ She held a spoon with chipped ice next to his lips. Bill o bliged,

without moving, other than to accept a half teaspoon of ice into his mouth. He felt the cold ice

melt against his gums.

³I think we should get you cleaned up if you¶re ever going to get out of here and go

home, Bill. How about we play µNurse Shaves the Barber¶ this morning?´ Smiling br oadly, she

withdrew her razor fr om her pocket and flipped o pen the blade which glinted in the morning

light.

³Whoa, watch where you go with that thing,´ Bill joked, feebly, feeling his equilibrium

restored. ³Should I be ready to call f or help?´

³I think you¶ll be safe. Here, let¶s get you pr o pped up a bit.´ She set the razor down

beside the water basin and moved to help Bill sit up in bed, pr o pping the pillow behind his back.

She reached behind his neck and untied the knot that held his bed shirt together and pulled it

down, exposing his arms and chest. Blood stained the fr ont of his shirt fr om the unpredictable

nosebleeds that plagued him and the other patients in the ward. His skin felt warm to her touch.

With the toe of her shoe, she pulled o pen the bottom drawer of the table, confirming that a clean

gown would be ready when she needed it.

³You¶re not going to get a chill on me, are you?´

³Seems I¶m more apt to get a rise in my temperature than anything else,´ he quipped

again, speaking slowly.



³You have a f oul smell about you this morning, Private.´ She wrinkled her nose. ³Let¶s

give you a little bath.´ In truth, the ward smelled worse collectively than any of the patients

individually, owing to the results of incontinence among the patients, coupled with inadequate

laundr y facilities. She withdrew a washcloth and a large bar of soap fr om the drawer in the table

and put them both into the basin until the water grew grey and cloudy. Then she wrung out the

cloth bef ore applying it first to Bill¶s face and neck and shoulders. She returned it to the water

and repeated the pr ocess again, this time with more soap and extending her work to his chest and

arms and armpits, leaving a bit of lather on his skin. He felt cool to the touch now, but his skin

hung loosely on his frame, owing to the incremental weight loss he had experienced over the

previous weeks.

She rinsed the washcloth and covered the territor y again, removing the soapy film fr om

his exposed skin. Then she f ound a shaving brush in a coffee mug and dipped the brush into the

water, working up f oam in the mug. She covered Bill¶s sunken cheeks and face with shaving

lather and retrieved the razor. As she shaved his neck, he asked, ³How¶d you lose your husband

and little boy?´ Annie flinched at such a direct question, but continued the pr ocess as she spoke.

³My husband¶s family intr oduced steam shovels to co pper mining out West and he had

gone there periodically to teach the miners how to use them.´ She held his chin up with the

thumb of her left hand, cocking his neck back at an angle while her f orefinger rested on his nose.

With the razor in her right hand, guided by her index finger, she directed it carefully over the

stubble on his neck. Bill thought she must have shaved men ever y day of her life to be this

skillful at the pr ocess. ³There was a terrible accident and two of the miners he had been working

with died instantly. He was severely injured and languished in a hospital f or a few days. Our

son, Chester, and I left f or Utah as soon as we learned of his predicament, but he died bef ore we



arrived. All I could do was bring his body back to Ohio f or burial.´ She rinsed the razor in the

basin.

³When did you learn to be a nurse? Bef ore or after you learned to barber?´ Bill shot a

smile at the pretty nurse in an attempt to lighten the mood.

³I decided long ago that I would never depend on a man f or my well- being. My mother

had done that and I saw what happened. I had just finished nurse¶s training when I met Charles.

I never expected to marr y, but when I got to know Charles, and he asked, I never wanted

anything else.´ Her words landed on Bill¶s chest with all their weight. He looked at her and saw

R osa¶s face in her fair complexion and pale red hair. Tears f ormed in his eyes as longed f or R osa

to be beside him at his bed at this moment. Annie continued.

³When Chester and I got home, I decided to go to work. His family had money and I

could have settled into a lifestyle with them, but I needed to become my own person.´ She

wiped the lather off Bill¶s sideburns and trimmed in a neat edge just above his jawline on both

sides of his face. ³So we moved to Kansas City and I took a jo b in a hospital. Obstetrics. I

actually learned how to deliver babies.´

Bill thought of Maxine¶s birth in Kansas City and of her mother, Kitty, and felt a wave of

remorse f or all the mistakes he had made with them. ³What happened to your boy?´ he asked.

³The influenza epidemic made a run thr ough the states last spring. One day he was a

happy little guy, tearing about with his friends, playing outside. The next day he develo ped a

high fever and couldn¶t lift his head up off the pillow. It was a terrible thing to watch, him just

lying there, staring up at me with such pain and confusion in his eyes. And me, with all my

training and still feeling so helpless. Not being able to do anything.´ She paused f or a long

moment and said nothing, staring blankly into the air in fr ont of her. ³The third day he was



gone. It was a mercy, I guess, he was so miserable.´ She looked away fr om Bill¶s gaze. A tear

r olled down her cheek and she wiped it away with the back of her hand leaving a smudge of

shaving soap on her nose. When she turned to look at Bill, he mustered his strength to wipe it

away with his thumb, allowing his hand to linger f or just a moment on her cheek bef ore moving

to wipe a new tear fr om her other eye as well.

³What about you, Bill? What¶s your stor y?´

³Aah, nothing much to tell. I played some baseball back in Hutchinson. Barbered some,

worked in the mills.Got me a baby girl back home. She¶s «´ he hesitated, remembering

Annie¶s loss, thinking. ³Let¶s see about a year and a half old now, I reck on.´

³What¶s her name?´

³Maxine.´

³And her mother¶s the love of your life?´

³Her mother¶s «´ he sto pped and coughed deeply. Annie heard the similar sounds of

others coughing beyond the drape that had created an artificial r oom apart fr om the other

patients. He wondered what to say. ³Things didn¶t work out with her mother.´

³I¶m sorr y. You seem like a man who would be so easy to fall in love with.´ Annie

blushed at her o bservation. She was not usually so f orward.

³Oh, I¶ve been in love a few times,´ Bill grinned. Then his eyes looked away fr om Nurse

Gosman. He felt his temperature rise again. ³Well, really only once.´

³With Maxine¶s mother?´ Bill did not answer at first. Annie felt uncomf ortable, as if

she was pr ying.

³Nah. She loved me, I guess, and we had some good times together. But «´ he sto pped

again. ³She was never the one. There was always someone else. A girl I couldn¶t ever have.´



³Why Private Holmes, I do declare you could have any girl you ever wanted!´ Annie

gushed, tr ying to find humor in the situation.

³Not this one,´ Bill said, staring at the to p of the curtain in fr ont of his hospital bed. ³Not

in a million years. But I tell you what, Nurse Annie. If I ever get out of this place, I¶m going to

change that. If she¶ll still have me.´

Later that night, unbeknownst to anyone in Langdon, while Bill slept fitfully in his

hospital bed in Allerey, France, more than nine thousand miles away, three young girls came

home fr om school to begin their Thanksgiving holiday. Playing in fr ont of their home, two of

Uncle Sherman and Aunt Stella¶s girls, named Ida and Audrey, held a jump r o pe. Theother one,

their sister Clara, kept warm without her coat by skipping to a new chant she taught the others:

I had a little bird, Its name was Enza.

I opened up the win-dow, And in-flu-enza!

Saturday night, December 7, 1918

Margaret Kelley worked alone in the kitchen after supper while Frank pored over the

farm accounts on the dining r oom table. She felt especially satisfied this evening as she hummed

a sweet melody half aloud. It had been a good day, having all, or almost all, of her children at

home. When she finished washing the supper dishes, she carried an old cracked bowl fr om the

sink to the door and tossed the accumulated f ood scraps fr om it to the cats in the back yard.

They argued with each other, hissing and spitting as if they might starve by morning if they

missed their fair share. The dogs ignored the fray and slept with full bellies under the porch,



owing to the rabbit hunt they had gone on that afternoon. Frankie, the Kelley¶s middle son, had

come home f or dinner after work on Friday and stayed. Such a young man he had become! And

handsome, fair haired with blue eyes, and strapping. He and his baby br other, Tommy, nineteen

now (where had the years gone?), had taken their dad and the horses out f or a rabbit hunt in the

afternoon and r ode horseback acr oss the dormant fields, fr ozen black and green with winter

wheat, firing shotguns at cottontails and jack rabbits that scampered f or cover in their path. The

weather had been icy cold, but clear with little wind. She had heard the reports of their guns

echoing acr oss the pastures, interrupting the quietness of the afternoon reverie that she and the

girls enjoyed in the men¶s absence. Black cr ows, perched in the to ps of barren trees, scattered

airborne with ever y shot, though no one aimed at them. They came to land again in other trees

and the r oof of the barn. It would have been better if Jim, had been with them today. The oldest

of the Kelley boys, he was still in France. His letters came almost ever y week, sometimes more

often, and the paper talked as if the boys would start coming back in just a few weeks, may be by

Christmas or else after the first of the year.

Margaret dipped the bowl that had held the scraps into the lukewarm dishwater and

swirled a limp, gray cloth ar ound the inside and outside of the bowl bef ore dipping the old bowl

gingerly into the slightly warmer rinse water. That afternoon the girls, Theresa, R osa, and

Agnes, had stayed inside and played cards while Margaret took a nap after writing letters to

relatives back east, in Illinois. Frankie had stayed until after an early supper, but then Frank took

him back into Langdon to catch the late train to Hutchinson. Their two youngest, Tommy and

Agnes, had gone to their bedr ooms to study their assignments f or school next week. Theresa

slept in an overstuffed chair in the parlor with a volume of Dickens lying o pen on her chest.

R osa said good night earlier than her younger br other and sister, as usual, retreating to the



solitude of her r oom at home, which she had occupied since returning to Langdon nearly a year

ago, after the awful mess she had gotten herself into, living in Hutchinson, working at Pegues-

Wright. She had finally got back on at the Langdon State Bank, working as a clerk, away fr om

the eyes of the public, after several months of mo ping about the house and helping on and off

again with the housework.

R osa. Margaret thought about her second- born and let escape a long sigh. Twenty-six

last month and she should be married, and even have children of her own, but no pr ospects now.

And still pining f or Bill Holmes, off in the war, nor fit if he was home, with a baby and a wife in

Tur on. Margaret dried off the bowl with her apr on and set it back in its place at the corner of the

sink bef ore withdrawing a fresh towel fr om the drawer beneath the counter to use dr ying the

other clean dishes in the rack at the side of the sink. When she finished, she left the warmth of

the kitchen, turning off the lamps bef ore entering the dining r oom where she encouraged her

husband to come to sleep, leaving Theresa snoring in the corner at the far side of the r oom. After

counting the beads in their r osaries, they pulled up the covers of their bed and settled into each

other¶s arms against the encr oaching cold of the night with the affection and familiarity that

comes fr om years of becoming used to one another.

In her r oom down the hallway, R osa slept, dreaming of her beloved Bill, far away. Her

dream changed little fr om night to night. Against the cold night air in the unheated bedr oom, she

lets the pounds of quilts and comf orters envelo p her, warmed by her own body heat between her

mother¶s soft cotton sheets. She drifts off, held safe and secure in her lover¶s arms and by his

pr omises to return f or her. She feels his flesh against hers and snuggles into the tuft of hair at the

center of his chest, and soon finds his soft, wet lips. She molds herself into the lumpy bedcovers

that personif y his f orm, transporting herself back to the last night they had together, so long ago



and yet as immediate as if he had never left. After spending herself, she lies in his arms and feels

his lips brush the skin behind her ears and his hot breath in her golden hair. Finally they both

sleep, breathing deeply and rhythmically, until something in the silence causes her to awaken,

though only in her dream.

Still sleeping, but now dreaming vividly, she wonders what time it is. How long has she

slept? When she reaches out to her lover she finds his f orm silent and as chilled as the r oom.

She tries to awaken him with her kisses, but his skin is tight and cold and hard. A sour, musty

smell fills her nostrils. She shakes him but he does not respond. His hair shimmers and bounces

unfettered in the moonlight. When she looks at his face, his eyes gape o pen, but they do not see

her.

She calls his name, ³Bill?´ Quietly at first, as if she knows he is only teasing her. But

still he does not answer. Louder now, ³Bill?´ She shakes the covers of her bed again, ³Bill!´

she howls in fear and desperation. ³NO!´ She calls again louder, now sounding like a frantic

animal, its leg caught in a trap, waiting to become prey to something fiendish. ³BILL!´ Her

so bs gr ow deeper and her voice harsher. ³Where are you? Bill!´ And she shakes the bed clothes

again as if they contain his human f orm, but finds nothing there save the acrid smell of the

chamber pot below.

Margaret Kelley heard her daughter¶s cries fr om her bedr oom where she had just drifted

off to sleep a half an hour bef ore. She threw back the covers and hurried out of the bedr oom

without regard f or the winter air that had settled into the house. Frank sat up on one elbow and

looked more confused than concerned as he watched her leave in the darkness. Neither of them

spoke. Margaret made her way thr ough the dark corridor, baref ooted, and o pened the door to

R osa¶s r oom without sto pping to knock. R osa¶s wailing became much louder once inside than



when she first heard it, and Margaret went to her daughter¶s bedside where she reached out to

her, speaking in low, soothing tones, as if to a baby with colic. But R osa pushed her away,

almost knocking her off the side of the bed, and she would not listen to her consolations, nor

would she awaken fr om what seemed to be a trance. R osa continued to wail, ³No, no, no,´ and

³Bill? Where have you gone? Bill! Come back! No, no, no «´ she repeated herself over and

over again, finally allowing herself to be held as she wept violently into her mother¶s gown until

the bodice and shoulder grew wet with tears and spittle.

The women held each other f or an hour. Frank and the others watched thr ough the door

until he shooed his other children back to bed with puzzled looks on their faces. He waited a

little while longer and watched his wife and daughter as they f ound comf ort in each other¶s

embrace. But finally he became wear y of the scene and returned to his r oom. The shuffling of

his feet on the bare floors made a soft sound, like sandpaper, until he climbed into bed and fell

back to sleep in a few minutes. But R osa and Margaret held each other and r ocked, until they

both fell asleep on the bed and slept until just bef ore dawn without further interruption.

When she awoke, Margaret sat up and looked at her daughter f or a long time as she slept.

R osa lay in repose, not peacefully, but with a fr own on her face and an expression of worr y and

despair ar ound her eyes. Finally Margaret got up and, as if R osa was still a little girl, adjusted

the covers to keep her warm until she awoke later. Baref ooted, she felt the cold wood beneath

her feet and held her breath as she tiptoed, missing the squeak y floorboards f or once, and closed

the door to R osa¶s r oom behind her as she left. When she crawled into bed beside her husband,

he pulled her to himself without waking as she adjusted the covers up to her chin and lay still

beside him, wide-eyed, staring into the air in fr ont of her. She noticed tiny specks of dust

floating at random, catching the morning light, and then she fell asleep again in her husband¶s



arms. They would not go to Mass this morning; they would ask f or f orgiveness at Confession

next week.

The letter Bill wr ote on November 16 arrived in Langdon on Thursday, December 12.

Jonas br ought it home after he completed his mail r oute. As Josie read his words, feelings of

dread filled her up. The next morning she f ound a piece of Jonas¶ stationar y, and bef ore he left

on his deliver y r oute, she wr ote:

Langdon, Kan. Dec. 13, 1918 My Dear boy,

We got your letter of Nov. 16 th

last night, the 12th , nearly a month since it was

wrote. We surely hope you still improved and did not try to get out too soon. I know youwere a sick boy and hope your care was sufficient to bring you out all right. And I knowthe hospitals must be crowded ±

You will get your Christmas box all right, I think probably long before you get this letter. I sent the box to Vesta to fill and send you, as I was not so I could get to town.

I sent her some of the chocolates you gave me when you left, but she said they wouldn¶t take chocolates, and she sent some other harder candy.

You have the best Christmas wishes from all your friends. They are always

asking about you. Although you are so far away from us you are always in thought. Hope there will be many kind messages sent to all the boys over there that can¶t comehome. Quite a few from the camps here are getting to come home. Fay packed histroubles in his old kit bag and come home Tuesday morning the 10

th. He was glad to get

home, and said he wouldn¶t take anything for his experience.

Fay just came in singing the stars and stripes will wave over Germany. I expect you realize that. Have you heard much about Pres. Wilson¶s being over there with youall? We search the papers for every bit of news we can get.

Sherman and Stella want us all to come in to their place Christmas. Delphos and Allie and children were home Sunday. They were all well. The boys are not going to

school on account of the Flu. Not very many schools are open.



Papa is ready to go and I must close hoping you receive this soon as possible.

With lots of Love, Mother

The telegram came later in the day, after Jonas had already posted Josie¶s letter. She

o pened the door to their home and recognized the deliver y boy and knew in her stomach what he

br ought. She closed the door bef ore the messenger had time to turn away. She stood in the

living r oom, her knurled, arthritic hands shaking as she o pened the envelo pe, tears already

welling in her eyes bef ore she saw the name, ³W. G. Holmes´ on the message and the words

³We regret to inf orm you «´ She fell to her knees and wailed, so bbing like an inhuman thing,

pounding the floor with her fist.

On Christmas morning Jonas came back fr om the post office after checking the mail. He

was in a state, clutching a letter in his hand, and bounded thr ough the fr ont door of their little

house in Langdon, out of breath, panting.

³Mama, we¶ve got another letter fr om Bill! Here, read it out loud.´

The handwriting was not as shak y as the previous letter. Josie¶s heart pounded as she

o pened the envelo pe wanting it to mean what it could not.

Somewhere in France Nov ± 25 ± 18

Dearest Mother and all ±

Oh yes, I am still among the living. Am still in the same place.Can¶t say if I will get out but don¶t want you to worry. For the Army boys are to start coming back across

soon.



I expect you had just as well not write to me any more for my outfit is up inGermany and if you wrote me here I would be gone before it could get here.

So don¶t write any more now. I will let you know that I am still kicking.

Would sure like to eat Christmas dinner with you but that is only a dream.

I will have to close with love and best wishes I am as ever your Son and Bro

Bill.

Christmas br ought no further false ho pe to the Holmes family in 1918 and the reality of

his passing set in gradually over the months that f ollowed. Records reflect that William Holmes

took sick fr om exposure in the Argonne Drive and died at base hospital #26 on Sunday,

December 8, 1918. He was buried in a grave ³so marked as to be easily identified.´ The site

faced the SaoneRiver on a slo pe at Allerey, Saone et Loire, AmericanCemeter y #84, in France.

Bef ore the orderlies put his body into a simple coffin, Annie Gosman br ought a basin of

warm water into the r oom where they had prepared his body f or burial; she silently and

meticulously shaved the whiskers fr om his sallow and sunken face. The army stated that he died

of br oncho pneumonia.

The Langdon Christian Church held a memorial f or Bill during services on December 22.

Though no one invited her, and though she had never attended worship services at a Pr otestant

church, R osa attended services at the Christian Church that morning. She came with her mother

and father. She wore a simple black dress that fell to her ankles with dark hose and black pumps.

She wore a black hat and a black scarf at her neck that trailed over her shoulder and caught the

wind as she moved. The Kelleys sat near the back of the church to one side. R osa saw Jonas



and Josie near the fr ont, sitting together with the two young boys, Speck and Badger, between

them. Vesta sat next to her mother and Fay. Delphos and Mar y Alice sat next to Jonas with baby

Doris. Though she did not show it and only her husband knew, Mar y Alice was nearly two

months pregnant.

The preacher took his message of ho pe fr om First Peter. Fr om the pulpit he read the

words of Peter, the Disciple who wr ote, ³Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ,

which according to his abundant mercy hath begotten us again unto a lively ho pe, by the

resurrection of Jesus Christ fr om the dead, to an inheritance incorruptible, and undefiled, and that

fadeth not away, reserved in heaven f or you, who are kept by the power of God thr ough faith

unto salvation ready to be revealed in the last time.´

At the end of the worship service the Holmes family remained in their seats while the rest

of the congregation passed by to extend condolences, wish them well, and offer help. The

Kelleys came by near the end of the pr ocession. Frank and Margaret shook hands with Delphos

and Mar y Alice, and made over little Doris. R osa looked ahead to Jonas and Josie, as she

nodded and smiled at Bill¶s younger br other and his wife and child, and the boys who sat

between them.

When R osa stood in fr ont of Josie, the two women looked into each other¶s eyes f or a

long moment and saw the regret and pain that each felt. Finally Josie spoke, ³My dear girl,´ she

said, ³What have we done?´ And the two women embraced. When they pulled back, still

holding each other¶s shoulders, tears in their eyes, Josie asked, ³What have I done?´ R osa f ound

no words to respond, but they hugged again and Josie whispered into R osa¶s ear, ³I¶m so sorr y,

dear. I¶m so sorr y.´ As they moved on, R osa looked past Fay, to Vesta, who held out her arms

to R osa. The two hugged each other as they cried together f or their loss.



The holidays passed with the help of family and friends. Then, on a Sunday morning,

Januar y 5, a letter arrived at the Langdon Post Office fr om France, ty ped on plain paper with

Bill¶s name, Rank, Company and Battalion f or purposes of identification.

Office of the Chief Nurse Base Hospital No. 26,

Allerey, Saone etLoire, France Dec. 9 , 1918

My dear Mrs. Holmes:

Your splendid son William has been in our hospital since November 10 and his pluckiness and courage in fighting a hopeless case of pneumonia has won the love and admiration of all around him. Even though he was so weak he always had a smile for

those who were caring for him. He died yesterday at noon and the end was very peaceful. He did not know he was dying and passed very quietly away.

We all sympathize so deeply with you now and hope that there will be consolation for you in knowing that your son died for his country in this big war of democracy.

We will bury him in our American cemetery, a lovely spot on top of a hill overlooking the Saoneriver, where many of his countrymen are also buried.

Assuring you again of our heartfelt sympathy, I am

Annie Gosman

Josie read Nurse Gosman¶s letter over again and again. She made handwritten co pies f or

all the family. By the time she f ormulated a reply, she had memorized ever y word of Nurse

Gosman¶s eloquent consolation. She practiced her response on old lined tablet paper, written in

a careful hand, scribed in br own ink with an old-style pen.



Annie Gosman My Dear Friend

With a heart full of Love I am trying to answer your kind and appreciated letter which we received Sunday morning, J an. 5

th. We had received the

Telegram from the War Department in December and thought we would in time hear

from some one at the Hospital where he was. Which we thank you all²we had hoped after peace was declared that our boy might get to come home, but he with many othershad to make that Supreme Sacrifice. In Hospital or in battle the Gift to our country is the same.

Though they be laid to rest in France, loving hearts will follow them in gratitude, and I know kind hands tucked them in gently beneath the flowers to sleep until we all awake together.

I would be glad to hear from any of the nurses who might have talked with him. If he had any special desires or if he received any of our letters

while at the Hospital. We had two from him from there. The last one came to us onChristmas Day, written November 25. He seems so hopeful of getting out then.

I hope I am not asking too much for I know you are all so

busy. Surely many mothers appreciate your service, ³ Here¶s one.´ I have tried to do all I could at home to help.

May you all be strong and of good CourageYour loving Friend,

Mrs. J . H. Holmes

14 those that never sing

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