Morning on the prairie...and afternoon on the drill field.

The soldiers who helped the World War I effort did more than just grow wheat.

Sunday Afternoon

Sunday morning dawned bright and clear, the meadow larks sang anywhere and everywhere. The boom, boom, boom of prairie chickens came at regular intervals, though always seemingly from a distance. The prairie lived and breathed; the grasses growing on its bosom, stirred by a gentle breeze, marked its breathing. Such a wonderful, glorious morning.

Jimmy and Emma Louise, on their way to church, drank in the beauties of the morning as a flower turns toward the sun. They had chosen the longer way, taking notice of their neighbor’s fields as they passed. Dean’s wheat was still a little green, “Jimmy, hear that warble,” Smith’s was dead ripe, they would probably begin on it in the morning, “Jimmy, they don’t bat an eyelash when we pass, just sing on.” There was a field partly cut and shocked, it must be a new kind of wheat to ripen so much earlier.

As they started home from Church, Jimmy said: “Let’s take the short way this time, have dinner sooner.”

“But, Jimmy, the bridge is out.”

“We can ford it. I have, several times.”

So they drove through town, toward the south, and soon reached the gently sloping, pebbly beach of Ponca Creek. The water deepened, however, until the two in the buggy were forced to rest their feet on the dashboard to keep them dry. How old Nelly had to scramble to get up the bank on the farther side; straight up and down it was, two or three feet high, and lapped by the water until it was as slippery as an eel.

“Like it?” Jimmy asked.

“Not so bad,” the girl replied.

As they passed Fred Rhodes’ place, he hailed them. “Drill this afternoon, Jim, at three o’clock.”

“O.K.” Jimmy said. “Shall I stop for you?”

“No, I guess Myrtle will go along too. Emma Lou is going?”

“Yes,” Emma Lou answered for herself. “I would not miss that for anything.”

So Jimmy and Emma Louise hurried home as fast as the old mare could take them, had their noon meal, and prepared to start back.

As Emma Louise again donned her best clothes which she had worn on her wedding journey, Jimmy said: “You look patriotic enough to watch any soldiers drill.”

And she did: high top shoes of soft gray kid with military heels, a navy-blue jacket suit, a blouse of soft, white silk, an unadorned hat of shiny, red straw; patriotic indeed. And looks were not deceiving, for Emma Louise had spent so much of her teacher’s salary on Liberty Bonds and War Saving Stamps that very little was left for wedding finery. It was not right, according to her way of thinking, to buy silks, satins, and laces at this time of her country’s desperate need.

Passing the Rhodes’ place on their way in, Jimmy and Emma Louise saw Fred and Myrtle drive out their lane and turn into the road just ahead of them. Around a wide curve, down a long hill, and Myrtle’s squeal of fright floated back to them as the rig in front slid down the steep bank into the creek.

“My girl is not so silly,” Jimmy grinned, as they splashed through the water.

“Not when you are driving, Jimmy.”

“Attagirl. I’ll tell the world you are a peach.”

“Look, Jimmy, what a large crowd has gathered. It must be the fashion to come and watch the poor guys suffer. I see Fred and Myrtle, and Ray and Mabel. There is Doc running around like a hen with a lot of little chickens.” Emma Louise chattered like a magpie when excited.

“I did not know there were so many young men left in Boyd County,” she continued.

Jimmy tied old Nelly to a hitching post on the other side of the street and the two walked over to where Fred and Myrtle sat in their buggy at the edge of the parade ground.

Fred jumped to the ground, saying: “Here, Emma Lou, sit with Myrtle. Jim and I will have to get in formation pretty soon, anyway.”

In a little while, the squads were formed, about a dozen of them, with seven men to a squad, double rank, a corporal alongside each squad. The sun streamed down on them all; fat, thin; tall, short; rich, poor; married or single. But mostly married, for most of the young single men had been sent overseas; and poor, because no one in that locality had very much money. No one needed money, anyway, anyone’s credit was good at the bank for as much as they wanted to borrow.

The officers were clad in their khaki uniforms as they were members of the Home Guards; while the rookies wore their civilian clothes.

Down the field they went, kicking up little spirals of dust from the dry prairie. Keeping step with their corporals? Maybe two or three in a squad managed to so do. What energy the others wasted trying to catch step; taking a quick hop on the left foot and jerking the right forward in time to match that of the others. Keeping in unison for a few paces, then the fast little hops all over again.

The Sergeant, muchly overweight, panting, perspiring, marched beside one squad, then another; booming out his left, left, left. When he shouted “Quarter wheel right” then there was confusion.

The clear, lovely morning had brought forth a scorcher of a day: the blue of the sky had faded in the glare of the sun’s blinding brightness. Not a breeze stirred; the dust disturbed by the hundred marching feet hung in a cloud about them.

Finally ranks broke, the begrimed heroes had opportunity to mop their brows.

“Phew,” exclaimed Jimmy, leaning against a wheel and fanning himself with his hat. “That is the biggest day’s work I ever did.”

“Let’s have some ice cream to celebrate,” suggested the irrepressible Fred.

“Celebrate what?” Jim asked.

“It is all over, done, completed; until next Sunday.”

“That sounds good to us,” Emma Louise spoke for herself and Myrtle. “We have been sitting here in the hot sun a long time.”

So across the street went the four, but at the door of the ice cream parlor, it looked as if a few other people had the same idea.

Later, driving home, Jimmy remarked: “This certainly uses up our Sundays, now it is chore time. Any little bit we can do, though, to help our country. Still,” he mused, “I wonder what good it really does and who gave the order.”

Several other young men, on their way home that afternoon, or other similar Sunday afternoons, also wondered. Just why was it that the young farmers, placed in Class 3-J, told by Uncle Sam to do their duty by raising the country’s food supply, not drafted for war, should be compelled to practice military drill every Sunday afternoon? Some of them investigated, eventually, and found the order had not come from headquarters, but from some over-patriotic lesser officer who thought he was doing something for his country.

As Jimmy and Emma Louise topped the long hill and looked down upon their unpretentious holdings, the sun came to rest upon the summit of another hill over in the west, and all the world was bathed in golden splendor. The air was cooler, a light breeze had sprung up, the bell on the little Jersey tinkled near the pasture gate.

“It’s a pretty good old world,” whispered Jimmy, fearing to break the spell. “The place looks nice from here, and I’ll tell the world it is nice, honey, since you came.”

“We had better go on, then, and see how nice it is. I shall have supper ready by the time you have done the chores,” was Emma Louise’s practical answer. But her eyes were a dreamy mist—from looking at the sunset.