And the Rains Never Came

By Jerry Doyle

This is a story about the West Texas drought of the 1950s, written by a man who as a teenage boy grew up on a drought-stricken Schleicher County ranch during those years. Seven years of relentless dry weather saw crops writher, top soil blown away, farms lost, and ranches forced into bankruptcy. Lakes went dry, towns were short of drinking water, and dust storms were numerous. Cowboys became oil field roughnecks. Farmers became store clerks. The drought changed West Texas forever. For some, the drought tore families apart, but the main characters of this story relied on each other to get through the tough times. This book, therefore, is also a love story about two people who met and married in a faraway place and who returned to his familys Menard County ranch to put down their roots, only to see their dreams dashed by the drought. They were forced to make some bold decisions, but through it all they hung on to each other, which allowed their close relationship to blossom into an incredible love affair.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Feb 18, 2016
• ISBN: 9781514453896

Jerry Doyle

Jerry Doyle is an American talk radio host, conservative political commentator, and former television star. His nationally-syndicated talk show, The Jerry Doyle Show, which is the 7th largest syndicated radio show and airs throughout the United States on Talk Radio Network. As an actor, Doyle is best known for his role as Michael Garibaldi in the science fiction series Babylon 5. He has raised funds for many charities including Disabled American Veterans, UCLA Medical Center, Breast Cancer, Aids Walk-LA, Cystic Fibrosis and the Motion Picture and Television Fund. He has received numerous awards and accolades including Honorary F-16 Test Pilot, Honorary Naval Aviator and Distinguished Supporter of the Nation's Space Program.

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Copyright © 2016 by Jerry Doyle.

The original electronic copy of this book is stored

in the Frost National Bank in San Antonio, Texas.

Jerry Doyle can be contacted at [e-mail].

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 02/04/2016

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CONTENTS

July 1954

January 1955

January 1956

January 1957

This book is

dedicated to my wife, Heavia.

For fifty-four years, she has been by my side.

However, she has been more than a wife.

Heavia has been a companion, a playmate, a lover,

a sweetheart, a business partner, a fishing buddy,

a walking buddy, a dance partner, a soul mate,

and the best friend I have ever had.

I haven’t had a bad day since the day we met.

No one writes a book by themselves. There has to be a support team that proofs, edits, and suggests ways to improve the story being told. The following people deserve a sincere thanks from me for the part they played.

My wife, Heavia, taught high school math for three decades, but she earned a college degree with a double major in Math and English. She shared those skills by proofing my story and by suggesting alternate ways to craft a sentence or a paragraph to make the message more powerful. We spent many hours discussing which direction to take the story and how best to describe the tough times brought on by the drought. Her input has, as always, been valuable.

Our daughter, Johnnie, also earned math teaching credentials like her mother, although she is now an engineering technician. She also proofed my story, made suggestions, and is responsible for me expanding the role of the young deputy sheriff that you will encounter in the story. She also provided off-site storage for my story in her computer system.

Sally Kay Dickson, my sister-in-law, did a superb job of proofing my story. With two degrees, she taught for more than thirty years. A good part of her job was evaluating the journalistic endeavors of her students. She applied those same skills to my story and helped make my story grammatically acceptable.

Melissa Shepherd, dear friend, retired English teacher, and retired professor, always encouraged me to expand my characters, as she wanted to know about them and how they played a support role to the main characters.

This is a story about the west Texas drought of the 1950s, written by a man who, as a teenage boy, grew up on a drought-stricken Schleicher County ranch during those years. Seven years of relentless dry weather saw crops wither, top soil blown away, farms lost, and ranches forced into bankruptcy. Lakes went dry, towns were short of drinking water, and dust storms were numerous. Cowboys became oil field roughnecks. Farmers became store clerks. The drought changed west Texas forever. For some, the drought tore families apart, but the main characters of this story relied on each other to get through the tough times. This book, therefore, is also a love story about two people who met and married in a faraway place and who returned to his family’s Menard County ranch to put down their roots, only to see their dreams dashed by the drought. They were forced to make some bold decisions, but through it all, they hung on to each other, which allowed their close relationship to blossom into an incredible love affair.

AND THE RAINS NEVER CAME

Main characters

Lincoln Pfeil

Parents: Alfred (Freddy) Pfeil (pronounced file)

and Matilda Dickson Pfeil

The Pfeil family arrived in the San Antonio area from Ohio ten years after Texas became a state. After the Civil War, they moved westward and established deep roots in the western hill country of Texas. Three brothers settled in Menard County. They later expanded their ranching interests to Schleicher County and Kimble County. Lincoln grew up on the Pfeil ranch in western Menard County, not far from the ruins of the old army post, Fort McKavett. The Dickson family, fresh from Ireland, settled in Maryland in 1847 before moving to Hill County, Texas, in 1858.

Neva Jo Hart Pfeil

Parents: John Thomas (J.T.) Hart

and Juanita Elisa Montalvo Hart

The Hart family sold their homestead in southwestern New York and settled in the Flint Hills region of Kansas in 1855, but after the Civil War, they migrated to northeastern New Mexico in 1867. The Montalvo family, with deep roots in New Mexico, arrived in Santa Fe more than a century before the American Revolution. Neva Jo, named for her paternal grandmother, grew up on a large ranch northeast of Las Vegas, New Mexico.

Otto Schumann

Wartime friend from Marshall, Minnesota, who later moved to Badger, South Dakota.

THE STORY

JULY 1954

L INCOLN GOT UP from the table after finishing his noontime sandwich. Thanks for the grub, esposa. Not many men get to eat dinner with a naked woman. Neva Jo laughed. Not many men are married to me. Besides, naked is the only way to survive in this July heat. Lincoln got his hat and walked onto the screened-in breezeway between the house and the car shed. Favorite wife, he said, it hasn’t rained a cup full of water in nearly a year, and I don’t think it is ever going to rain again. If we were to cut all the green grass on our 11,000 acres, we couldn’t half fill a damn milk bucket. Neva Jo followed him onto the breezeway and added, If it were not for this screened-in dog run, we would both die from the dry weather and the heat. Lincoln agreed, kissed his wife on the cheek, gave her a quick pat to her naked butt, and headed out the door to check their goats. He yelled from the yard, I love you, girl!

As he walked toward the barn, he reflected on the fact that he was born and raised on this ranch, and he had never seen it so dry for so long. Lincoln also pondered their serious financial situation. The previous morning, he and Neva Jo had fed their cattle near the windmills in the north, the west, the middle, and the rock house pastures. It was apparent from the fresh piles of cow manure and the wallows that the cattle had never left the feed grounds since the day before. Once fed, the livestock just bedded down and waited for the pickup truck to show up the next morning. The cows knew that there was little grass to hunt, so they waited for their morning range cubes and hay. Then he chuckled to himself and thought that maybe the cows weren’t so dumb after all. He recognized that the drought covered a half dozen states, but the western half of Texas was the hardest hit. The long dry spell that had gripped the area for four years had reached a critical stage, and the Pfeil Ranch was in the heart of it.

Lincoln knew that he and Neva Jo were in a tough spot. They were land rich and cash poor. Their herd of eight hundred Angora goats and seventy-two head of second calf Angus heifers and six Angus bulls were all the livestock they had left, except for two dozen Spanish goats, six saddle horses, and two brood mares. With no good chance of rain in sight, he and his wife had made a joint business decision to sell their sizable herd of Rambouillet sheep and half of their cattle to give the pastures some relief. It hurt to see a good bunch of ewes that they had worked so hard to build into a quality herd climb the loading chute into Clyde Butler’s trailer bound for the Fort Worth Stockyards. And while it was easy to get rid of the older cows that needed to be culled anyway, it was a sad day when half of the remaining herd left in railroad cars bound for eastern markets. Neva Jo even cried a little. He didn’t have much prickly pear to burn for livestock feed like some of the neighboring ranches, for his dad and granddad had spent decades grubbing up the pear and eradicating it because it stole so much water from the good plants. As the feed bills increased, he wondered if he would soon have to sell his remaining cows. If he and Neva Jo were reduced down to a small herd of goats, then what would happen?

Lincoln yelled from the yard, I’m taking our old pickup. The Chevrolet has a damn flat tire. I’ll be back in about an hour. Lincoln bounced along on the rough ranch road and marveled at how good the old ’37 model Ford pickup truck ran. He had driven it to Texas Tech before the war started and then had driven it to Tech after the war to finish his final year to earn his degree. The flathead V8 engine had a lot of miles on it, but with a ring and valve job on it two years ago, it still ran as good as his ’52 model Chevrolet pickup. He stopped by the windmills in the goat pastures to make sure the water level in the tanks and water troughs was okay. One old poor white-tail doe bolted from one of the water troughs into the brush. The stock tanks were a little low, so he released the windmill wheels so the wind could catch them. He had a grain scoop and a broom in the back of his pickup, so he decided to wash the water troughs while he was there.

The nannies looked to be in reasonably good shape as they had really taken to the many small live oak trees he had cut down to feed them. It was so dry there was little grass, but goats were browsers, so the oak brush suited them just fine. He got a good look at most of them when they came to the pickup looking for corn. He thought, Damn, it needs to rain! He realized he had some near yearling goats that had never been wet.

As Lincoln turned the old Ford west toward home, a radiator hose ruptured and sent steam and hot water everywhere. He turned off the engine quickly as he did not dare run it hot. Hot flat-head V8 engines were notorious for cracking the engine block, and that dumped water into the motor oil. He did not need the expensive block-sleeve repair bill. As hot as it was, he started walking. By the time he had covered the two miles home in the one-hundred-degree heat, he was soaking wet with sweat.

When he walked onto the breezeway, Neva Jo was there ironing clothes, naked as usual. Hey, babe, get your work clothes on. I need you to get our old tractor and come pull the Ford home. It blew a radiator hose. Without waiting for an answer, Lincoln headed toward the barn to get a chain to hook the pickup to the tractor. As he walked out of the barn, he looked up and saw Neva Jo standing on their old G John Deere with her back to the steering wheel; she was spreading a towel over the tractor seat. She had on her Resistol work hat and her work boots that still had her gal-leg spurs strapped on them; however, she had nothing on between her hat and her boots. Lincoln laughingly asked, Neva Jo, what the hell are you doing? She settled onto the tractor seat and responded, I am going to help you like you asked me to. Then the good-natured banter began. Like that? Hell yes, and besides, I have my head and my feet protected, and that’s enough. What if someone sees you? Who the hell is going to see me? There are over two miles of brush-covered country between here and the county road, and the gate over our cattle guard is locked. What if a border patrol plane flies over? Then they are going to see the best-looking thirty-three-year-old naked woman in Texas! Lincoln laughed. I can’t argue with that!

He threw the chain on the tractor in a pile next to his wife’s feet, switched the fuel supply back from the main kerosene tank to the small gasoline tank required for starting, set the choke, turned the motor over until it reached the hard spot, and then gave the flywheel a hard spin. The elderly John Deere tractor came alive. He closed the petcocks, walked to the rear of the tractor, stepped upon the trailer hitch, and got a handhold on the seat as Neva Jo eased the old tractor forward and headed slowly for the east windmill. Before he even touched her, Neva Jo laughingly tossed a comment over her shoulder. Leave my butt alone. I know what you’re thinking. Don’t get my mind off driving as I might hang a sharp rock and ruin a rear tire, and we can’t afford a new one. Lincoln chuckled and admitted to himself that yes, he was indeed thinking about playing with his wife’s butt, and no, they could not afford a new tire.

With the old Ford pickup truck parked in the shade of the barn awaiting repairs and the tractor returned to its usual spot, Lincoln turned his attention to fixing the flat on the Chevy. Once the rear tire was off and the tube checked for holes, Neva Jo found a # 6 nail that had poked through the tire, causing the flat. With the tube patched and the nail removed from the tire, Neva Jo announced that while Lincoln put the wheel back on the axle, she was going to the house to make a pitcher of iced tea and get supper ready.

Hot and sweaty, Lincoln walked to the house. A big cloud in the far western sky had shut out the sun, making things cooler, but it did not look like rain … at least not for the Pfeil Ranch. Lincoln sat down at the table and enjoyed a glass of tea and, afterward, ate the supper that Neva Jo had warmed up for them. On finishing, he announced to whoever was listening, It is too damn hot to do anything! Neva Jo giggled with a retort. It is not too hot to do one thing. Come on, let’s go shower together. They were soon drying each other off before heading to their bed for some marital bliss.

Sometime later in the waning light, Lincoln was propped up in bed drinking more iced tea while Neva Jo snoozed as she usually did after some good loving. He marveled at the tall slender lady who lay naked beside him on top of the sheets. Her waist-long dark hair spreading across her pillow, her pretty dark blue eyes from her father’s side of the family were closed so peacefully. Her Hispanic mother gave her a beautiful year-round tan. And in spite of working in the sun with him most days, her skin was as smooth as silk. He looked at his own naked self, his six-foot-four-inch two-hundred-pound body still scarred with surgery tracks and old ragged war wounds, and he appreciated the gorgeous creature who shared his bed and his life.

His mind drifted back to the first time he saw her. The German Army had just fled across the Rhine River back into Germany. He and his ol’ army buddy from Marshall, Minnesota, Otto Schumann, had survived the Battle of the Bulge a few months earlier. On that fateful March day, each man had a detail working on the Ludendorff Bridge over the Rhine River, making sure it was safe for American troops and equipment to cross into Germany in pursuit of Hitler’s army, when the elderly railroad bridge collapsed. He vividly remembered that it happened on March 17, 1945. Neither one knew that the other had survived the calamity that claimed two dozen American lives until they reached a medical station several miles away from the battlefront. Lincoln and Otto were soon in the safety of a French hotel that had been converted into a hospital. Both captains were recovering from multiple fractures and broken legs.

First Lieutenant Neva Jo Hart was a nurse in that US Army Central Command Hospital in Paris. He remembered that she was the first person that he saw when he struggled to come awake after leg surgery. Tall, slender, a beautiful face, short dark black hair … Lincoln, for a moment, wondered if she were an angel as he tried to shake off the mental fuzziness of the chloroform. He vaguely remembered that she checked on several other patients in the room before she left, and he drifted off to sleep again. He recalled that several hours later when he woke up again, his mind was clear, and it was apparent he had been the doctors’ surgery project for quite some time from the stiches in his body and the plaster that he was wearing. This time when Lieutenant Hart returned to the room, she checked on the other five patients before she came to his bedside. She checked his temperature and his blood pressure before she said a word. Then she cheerfully asked, How are you doing, cowboy? He smiled and took great joy in the fact that she had been checking on this old cowboy ever since.

Neva Jo was more than a wife to him. She was a companion, a playmate, a lover, a sweetheart, a fishing buddy, a hunting buddy, a roping buddy, a dance partner, a business partner, a soul mate, and the best friend he had ever had. He watched her sleep for a few minutes then placed his empty tea glass on the nightstand before he cuddled up to his wife and went to sleep.

A short brief shower, about a quarter of an inch, came at dawn the next morning. Lincoln was up first watching the rain, wishing it would rain more, and having coffee that he made from a freshly opened can of Maryland Club Coffee. When he heard the toilet flush, he knew that his wife was up, so he got himself a second cup of coffee and poured her a cup for he knew she would appear from the bedroom any moment. As she walked into the kitchen, naked as usual, she said, Wow, thanks for the good loving last night. I slept like a baby, and wrapped her arms around his head as he set in his chair, burying his face between her bare breasts. He smiled and replied, More than happy to help a lady in distress. Besides, of all the women I’ve ever married, you’re number one. Neva Jo just grinned and shook her head. I’m the only wife you ever married. Lincoln took her hand. And the only one I ever want. She kissed him on the forehead. "What do you want for breakfast? Lincoln replied, The usual, rooster bullets and bacon."

While they ate breakfast, Lincoln suggested that they drive into town after they fed their cows and checked on their Angoras. They needed to buy a new radiator hose for the Ford, and they needed to get some more range cubes for the cattle and more corn for the goats. He liked to feed both a little every time he went to the pasture to keep them coming to the pickup so he could get a close up look without having to saddle a horse.

Lincoln and his wife were soon arriving at the rock house windmill, honking the pickup horn