The beginning of a story of high school romance, set in southern Nebraska during the Great Depression of the 1930's.

This is labeled "Chapter I," but it is the only known chapter of the story.

Beauty Blossoms, Chapter I

On the main corner of main street, she stood, beside the drinking fountain, in front of the bank; her left arm encircling two or three books, her right hand reaching toward the little wheel whose turning caused the water to spout into the air in diminutive imitation of Old Faithful itself. Soon the height of the geyser lowered, steadied to an even bubbling, still the girl hesitated.

“Darn,” escaped the red lips. Her hand released the trigger on the fountain and her forefinger pressed the dimple in her right cheek, first this way, then that. Finally a satisfied expression overspread her countenance; her wad of gum was firmly parked in the hollow of her cheek and she could drink with safety, to the gum. But of course, the flow of water had to be regulated all over again.

When at last she bent to partake of the cooling liquid, the slanting rays of the late afternoon sun reflected the gold of the smoothly rippling permanent wave with such brilliancy as to dazzle the eyes of the tall, young over-alled figure quietly waiting to quench his thirst.

After slowly imbibing her fill, the maiden turned about, deftly produced a compact from some invisible hiding place, snapped it open, glanced in the mirror, smoothed back a lock of red-gold hair; and assiduously applied more color to the beautifully shaped mouth. Not once did she show by the flicker of an eye-lash, that she was aware of the presence of the farmer lad.

“Why do you, Vi?” a masculine voice inquired. “You used to be pretty when you were a kid. Gosh, I can remember yet how your cheeks were the color of the wild roses alongside the road when we walked home from school on days like this. And look at them now.”

A lifted eye-brow and a shrugged shoulder were his only answer as Viletha began to walk down the street.

“Wait a second,” called Henry, catching step beside her. “I am going along to the Farmer’s Store to get my cream can.”

“Say, why didn’t I when I had the chance?” the young man chuckled to himself, not appearing to expect any reply.

But the girl’s curiosity was aroused, she could no longer keep silent. “Why didn’t you what, Smarty?”

“Wash your face in that fountain; only the next person who came along would think some one had had the nose bleed.”

With a pained expression in her violet eyes and head held high, Viletha turned and opened the screen door of the post-office. Henry, a rugged young giant with crisp brown hair and eyes as blue as the sky, and a mischievous smile on his face, continued down the street. Vi really would be the prettiest girl in town or country, he reflected, if she would not hide her natural beauty under all that rouge and those artificial waves. He hated things which were not real.

The main street of this little mid-western town was a clean street, could not be otherwise, for its direction lay north and south. In winter, its wide cement walks and graveled roadway were thoroughly swept by a rushing, tearing wind which swooped down from the north, across fields of ice and snow; in the summer, any bit of straw or paper which chanced to light was picked up again, whirled about, and carried on its way by the strong south wind which sometimes scurried past, cool and refreshing; but more often, scorching and breath-taking, roared past like the breath from a vast furnace. In reality, of course, this south wind blew over mile upon mile of sun-baked, denuded, Kansas wheat fields before reaching the small towns of southern Nebraska.

A few miles from Delton, Henry Felde and Viletha Deering had lived on neighboring farms since early childhood; since the girl was five, when her parents had moved there from the hill country over by the Missouri river. Both Henry and his father had been born in the big, old house on the Felde farm, which the Grandfather Felde had built when he home-steaded the place, soon after coming to America from the old country. It had taken many years of unceasing toil and bitter disappointments to make the grass-grown prairie blossom into this tract of well-tilled, productive fields, with its accompanying barns, sleek cattle, powerful horses, and beautiful home.

Not to be out-done by his thrifty neighbor, Fred Deering’s extensive farm, rolling just enough to keep water from standing in the corn-rows or from drowning out the oats, was as painstakingly tended and gleaned as the other. Only their labor had not had more than ten or eleven years in which to show results. Before the Deerings moved on the place, for a good many years one careless renter had followed another, allowing great patches of sun-flowers to infest the fields, while cockleburs thrived undisturbed and barn doors hung from loose hinges. Chickens had scratched out flower beds and wallowed in the vegetable garden. From this chaos, Fred and his willing wife, Emma, had slowly but surely, during the years of their ownership, built a prosperous, comfortable home for themselves and their two children: the girl Viletha who was now sixteen, and twelve year old Robert.

During the years of the depression, things had come to more or less of a stand-still, very few improvements could be made, buildings needed new paint. Two years of drouth had diminished the incomes to not much more than living necessities. All excess cattle was sold, both to lessen the amount of feed required and to help out the budget. But 1934 found both families holding their own, out of debt, and educating their children. Other neighbors, who were not willing to eat corn meal mush for supper or to drive their horses sometimes when the roads were muddy instead of taking the car, wondered how they did it.

All these things Henry was turning over in his mind as he leaned against the hitching post and rubbed the nose of Viletha’s spotted pony. Usually the two girls drove to school in Gertie’s neat little coupe, but when the roads were bad they rode horseback, as they lived not far from town. Lounging in the warm September sun, the lad was thinking also of the days when he and Vi had walked to country school together, had carved their initials on the same desk, had played ball at recess. Then he had finished the eighth grade and started in High School, where first his sister Gertie and then Vi had soon followed. Together the three had ridden in his battered old car thru all kinds of weather, then, two years ago, he had graduated. What a sweet little youngster Vi had been, with her lovely eyes, rosy cheeks and golden curls. But now. She treated him with an indifference which amounted to almost meanness, and the boys she dated. Well, perhaps it was just a siege, like the measles, and would pass before long.

“Say, Vi, what about a show in Fairbury to-night? There is a good one on at the Bonham,” Henry greeted her, as the two girls approached and began untying their ponies.

“Nothing doing, I’m going to the barn dance at Hennerberg’s to-night.”

“Gosh, Vi, you do not want to go to that,” Henry said. “There will be a bunch of rowdies there from goodness knows where, and half of them will be outside of a barrel or two of home brew.”

“It’s more fun than a poky old show, anyway,” the girl answered, as she swung into the saddle.

“Why do you not like Henry any more, Vi?” Gertie asked, as the two girls cantered down the street, past the depot and the new filling station.

“He’s too darn good looking and knows it,” Vi answered, biting her lip. “Now, I suppose you will tell him I said that.”

Gertie gave the younger girl a quick glance, but said nothing; so they traversed the first mile out of town in silence.

“Are you going to the barn-dance Gertie?” Vi asked after a while.

“l should say not,” primly replied the older girl who never liked to admit she was not very popular with the boys; the dignity of being a High School senior rested too securely upon her erect shoulders. “Are you really going or were you just bluffing Henry?”

“Bluffing nothing, Carl Smythe is taking me.”

Riding up the tree-bordered lane toward the large barn, Gertie murmured to herself, “Sometimes I do get out of patience with Vi, how can she stand that Carl?”