Candleglow Dreams Nebraska -by Barb Franzen

This is my from my written ,not yet submitted, book about a Nebraska farm girl whose identity is stolen by an evil aunt and a bogus pastor-Filled with humor, warmth, sadness, tear, and triumph-Nebraska 1928-41 Researched... Book One Chapter One-Moving Day Going south past Brady, they crossed the Platte River. Driving on, past several groves of trees, they came upon miles of corn fields with farm houses every mile or so along the way. Crossing a second bridge it wasn’t long before Dad said-“Look ahead.” The farm land at the end of the road had a back drop of endless hills that went east and west as far as the eye could see.Made of clay, they'd seemed like mountains back in Brady.. Carried away with looking at cattle, ponds, and the things children look at Celeste was amazed.. She squinted thinking it the loveliest sight she’d seen -She and Dad were about to turn to go into their drive way when she realized she was looking into a huge valley-the flat part the crops, the hills gradually expanding, getting steeper with tall jutting canyons.-Cattle stood about grazing while their babies nursed- sucking hard.A horse here and there-a windmill close to the top, a grove of trees at the bottom. Things looked neat and clean washed fresh by last might’s rain. Celeste’s heart sang with the song of the land playing in her mind- Ginny, not wanting to trail her brother left Will and walked over to where Celeste was standing. “Hi, I’m Ginny Temple. What’s your name?” “Celeste Dusty” “How old are you?’ Ginny asked, her long dark braids, dangling to her shoulders. “I’m eight. I’ll be a third grader.” “Me too! We’ll be in the same class together. There will be five of us counting you. Four girls with a boy. I don’t like the boy.. He picks his nose and farts. All of the boys do that. They also have spitting contests during recess. Mostly, I don’t like boys no matter who they are.” “I don’t like them either.” Celeste hadn’t given them much thought either way. In her opinion, the girls were the ones who caused her problems. “You won’t be able to stand my brother. I’ve wanted to have someone for a Hate Will club. You can be the first member. We have an old shed where we can set things up. We’ll need pencils and paper for ideas of what to do to him. He tortures and teases me. You’ll see.” Ginny suggested that they play dolls that afternoon. Celeste said that her doll, Anna was in a box and that her hair and clothes were soiled. “Don’t worry,” Ginny said. “I keep a pan of water up in the barn. I play there on hot days. We can wash her hair and dress. She’ll like that. I have a doll for you to use today. Her hair is like yours. I like the color of your hair. What do you call it?” “It’s auburn-brownish red. My hair is like Mom's. We have the same color of eyes as our hair.” Ginny reached over and felt Celeste’s hair. Satisfied, she grabbed Celeste’s hand skipping past the grove of trees on one side and the barn on the other. Suddenly a large white house with a huge porch came into view. “Wow!” Celeste exclaimed. “You live in a castle. I think it goes clear up to the marsh mellow clouds.. We could pretend it does and that the trees are enemies wanting to get us.” “I like your imagination. Some day we can play imagination. There are so many things to pretend.” “I pretend that the clouds are different things.” Celeste felt insecure. She’d never had a close friend, and this girl seemed to like her. Something would go wrong Celeste was sure. You didn’t live in the same yard with another girl-especially one as cute and friendly as Ginny, without something ruining things. Celeste was sure it would be that she had far less by way of toys and such. “Someday we’ll set off with a lunch, and I’ll show you a pretty meadow. It’s good for pretend. “We can play “ladies’ club and we can make mud pies and we have some new baby pigs you’ll like. There are a hundred things to do. I’ve wanted a friend to do them with. Now I have you. Let’s go inside and get a cookie. Mom’s making them for your family. She plans to bring supper over to your place,