--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Reid, Agnes Just collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 29 number: 1 published: 1925-11 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: "Reid, Agnes Just, “Celeste’s Acre,” *Improvement Era* 29, no. 1 (November 1925): 30–32." source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera2901unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera2901unse start_page: 30 end_page: 32 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1925-11) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera2901unse publication_year: 1925 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1925, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # Celeste’s Acre CELESTE'S ACRE By Agnes Just Reid. Celeste Petersen was home for one of those rare week-ends with the folks on the farm. Celeste worked in a drug store in town, which meant that even her Sundays were usually working days, and the trips to the old home became less and less frequent. The younger children were growing away from her, she was beginning to lose the influence she had once had with them. She could not even tell Brownie's colt from Babe's, and the children found such ignorance hard to forgive. The children regarded this drifting away from home with con- tempt, but John Petersen, the father, regarded it with alarm. "Ce- leste," he said that morning when they were all at the breakfast table, "I wish you'd come back and live with us this summer, home ain't ever quite the same with you away." "I'd like to, Dad, I get mighty lonesome for you all, but a girl never does feel satisfied at home after she has earned her own money." "Yes.. I've heard girls say that, Sis, but I'd like to figure with you a little on this money of yours. How much do you earn in a year?" "Why, let's see, I make twelve dollars a week. Twelve times fifty-two is how much, Pete, I never was quick at figures?" Pete answered glibly, "Six hundred and twenty-four dollars," as he helped himself to another spoonful of sugar for his oatmeal. "Now, how much of that is yours, Celeste?" "It's all mine, of course." You mean it is all yours after your board and room are paid for, your laundry, your car fare, etc. Get a pencil, Cejleste, let's figure this out carefully." Celeste seldom ate breakfast, so she was glad enough to figure while the rest were busy with their oatmeal and fried eggs. After a few minutes she said: "Well, after all those things are paid for I have one hundred seventy-two dollars left for clothes, and who ever heard of a woman on the farm having that much of her own each year? Mother doesn't spend the half of it." "I believe you are right, Celeste, but have you ever felt ashamed of your Mother's clothes when she goes to town to see you?" "Well, no," Celeste dragged out, "I never have. Her suit costs a lot more than I could afford to pay for one." "What about other things, shoes and stockings, for instance? How does the cost of yours compare with the cost of Mother's?" "It does not compare very well. I sometimes pay as high as fifteen dollars for a pair of shoes, and they are gone in no time on CELESTE'S ACRE 31 the pavements, and my stockings never cost less than two dollars a month." At this point Mother was drawn into the discussion, and she thought perhaps her best hose cost about two dollars a year. "Now Celeste, said her Father, with a note of seriousness in his voice, I want you to come back to the land. Try it for one year and if you are not satisfied and want to go back to the drug store, I feel sure you will be able to get your job back. I have a plan. I want you to take that acre of rich loam in the south field where the sheep were when we came home last night, and put it into sugar beets. You can have all you raise, which should be over a hundred dollars, then I'll give you twenty-five dollars prize money besides that, just as the beet company does with the boys. Your board will not cost you anything, you can help Mother in the house when you are not busy with your crop and we'll be a real family again." "Oh, Daddy, you know how I detest dish washing, and that is what house work means." "No, daughter, I had no idea you disliked washing dishes. Why, I've seen you polishing glasses at ten and eleven o'clock Saturday nights and you seemed cheerful enough. We always have the dishes done long before that, here at home." "And there are my friends there, now. I'd be lost here on the farm without the old bunch." "There are some pretty fine boys and girls living around these parts, but if you hanker for that particular bunch, take the car and bring 'em out. There is always plenty to eat for a dozen or two more, and it don't cost two dollars per plate either. I'd like to see you get acquainted with the neighbor's boys and girls whom you used to play with. Their grandfathers walked across the plains same as yours did to find this land and make it yield for you youngsters; now, after all that effort, you young folks get a notion you must walk away and leave it so you can earn money. I tell you, Cqleste, here is where the money all comes from. Who'll fill the show cases of that meek-eyed druggist's store with chocolate creams if some of us don't raise sugar beets?" "I never thought of that, but I'll try, Daddy, just because you want me to." "A week later Celeste told her near friends a tearful good-bye, and returned to that life of drudgery that so many young people try to escape. At the end of the first month, though, she was surprised to find herself happy. Her beets were in, and the gentle spring rains gave promise of bringing them up in record time. Across the fence from where she worked she often caught glimpses of Jack Hildebrand. She liked the way he handled four horses, the graceful, easy swing of his shovel, the gayness of his whistle. At a neighborhood party she 32 IMPROVEMENT ERA found he danced as well as the salesman in Brown's shoe shop with whom she had one time fancied herself quite in love. Besides dancing, he knew things. While he. had been growing bronzed in the sun and wind he had been learning from the book of life. His mind was as different from the men to whom she had been accustomed, as his brown calloused hands were from their slender white ones. Somehow he seemed more like her father was and the kind of a man she hoped her brothers would be. When the beets were dug, Celeste's check was a big one, and she went right straight to town and spent it for the most frivolous things she had ever possessed. That evening Jack Hildebrand dropped in, as he had a way of doing, and Celeste showed him all her new clothes and he seemed so interested. He managed to get a word with father Petersen alone, and Celeste came to the door in time to hear him say: "I am sorry, Jack, but Celeste hates house work, especially dish washing." Celeste blushed sweetly and said: "Oh, never mind, Daddy, that has all been arranged. Jack is to help with the dish washing all the year round, if I will help thin the beets." "Fine," said father Petersen, a little huskily, "and since that acre down in the south field joins yours, Jack, suppose you use it for a building spot. It will be so close, it won't quite seem like you have taken Celeste right away from us." Shelley. R. 2. Idaho. She Was Beautiful and More She was not so beautiful of form, or feature, it is true, If from an artist's vision, or a sculptor's eye, you view. Her tresses were not silky, like the author writes about, The shining, golden curls, that the breezes blow about. Her eyes were not the violet ones, the dreamy blue or brown, Her form not straight and graceful, or her name of great renown, Her dress was not quite up-to-date, the latest styles unknown; Hers — not the path of leisure, but the one where duty's known. Just to meet her was to love her, just to be with her a joy; She was kind to all the friendless, to the wayward girl or boy, And her face, though plain of feature, wore a look almost divine, For the love she bore to all the world, made her countenance to shine. And her smile would cheer the saddest, soothe the heart so crushed and sore, And to those who really knew her, she was beautiful and more. Mesa, Arizona MRS. IDA R. ALLDREDGE