Prince Tennyson

WHAT PEOPLE ARE SAYING ABOUT JENNI JAMES

“After reading Prince Tennyson, your heart will be warmed, tears will be shed, and loved ones will be more appreciated. Jenni James has written a story that will make you believe in miracles and tender mercies from above.”

—Sheila Staley, Book Reviewer & Writer
http://whynotbecauseisaidso.blogspot.com/

 

“Divinely inspired, beautifully written—a must read!” 

—Gerald D. Benally, author of
Premonition (2013)

 

“Prince Tennyson is a sweet story that will put tears in your eyes and hope in your heart at the same time.”

—Author Shanti Krishnamurty

 

“Prince Tennyson does more than pluck your heartstrings, it composes a beautiful symphony of emotions that will continue to play within you long after it's over.” 

—Mormon Mommy Writers
www.mormonmommywriters.com

 

“Jenni James has created a story of refreshing innocence and poignant truth that will touch the heart of even the crustiest cynic. A story for young, old, and everyone in between, Prince Tennyson is sure to become a contemporary classic.”

—Tristi Pinkston, author and editor
www.tristipinkston.com

 

“Chelsea Tennyson, a courageous and determined little girl who's trying to find truth in a life that has been wracked with the pain of her father's death, stole my heart and kept it throughout 
Prince Tennyson
. Daddy's girls and wannabe daddy's girls alike will enjoy this heart-warming story of fatherly love.”  

—Amanda Washington, author of 
Chronicles of the Broken

 

“We need to devise a new term for the kind of writer Jenni James is: method author. Prince Tennyson doesn't just tell a story...it performs.
 
The intricacies of being a child come to life in ways most people can barely put into words.”

—Author Jeff Sinclair

Look for these other great books for teens and adults by Jenni James:

Jenni James Faerie Tale Collection:

Beauty and the Beast (Summer 2012)

Sleeping Beauty (Summer 2012)

Rumplestiltskin (Summer 2012)

Cinderella (Fall 2012)

Snow White (Fall 2012)

The Jane Austen Diaries:

Pride & Popularity (Aug. 2011)

Northanger Alibi (Feb. 2012)

Persuaded (Summer 2012)

Emmalee (Fall 2012)

Mansfield Ranch

Sensible & Sensational

Clean Romance for Adults:

Eternal Realm Series:

Eternity (Dec 2012)

Chapter One

I WILL NEVER SAY a bad word again. Never.

I know it's going to be hard, not because I go around cussing every ten minutes or something, but because everyone else does.

My Grandma Haney took me to her church today. I wasn't going to go, but then she promised to buy me a new skirt with a pretty new jacket that matched. It was a bribe. I didn't care. I love my new light blue jacket with the glittery purple butterfly on it. The blue flowered skirt was just a bonus—it was the jacket I was really after. I don't know if I'll ever wear the skirt again. Too fancy for school.

At church, the lesson wasn't about not swearing, it was about finding a goal that will make the Lord proud of you for keeping it. We all had to come up with a goal. I didn't know what else to say, so I chose not to cuss. I figured it would be the easiest for me since the last time I said a bad word in front of my mom, she slapped me. Right on the face. It hurt, too. A good reason not to cuss, don't you think?

The kids at my new school say swear words all the time. I'll probably get teased or made fun of for not swearing. Oh, well, I guess I'd better get used to it. I will never say a bad word again. Not even if I want to.

I'm very good at keeping my goals. Some people say it's because I'm stubborn, but Mrs. Chee, my former third-grade teacher, told me it's because I'm determined. I liked that word. I had to look it up, because I didn't know what it meant. When I found it, it made me smile. I wanted to be very determined after that. I even told my family about that word.

My dad liked it too. He used to say, “You are the most determined girl I've ever met.” Then he'd mess up my hair and remind me, “That's a good thing.”

That's another one of my goals, actually. I'm determined to remember my dad. It'll be hard as I get older, I know. Some days, it gets hard now. Some days when I close my eyes and think really hard, I can barely see his smile, and the rest of his face is fuzzy. Other days, I can see him so easily it's like he's standing right next to me. It's a good thing I can keep my goals and that I'm so determined. I know I will never really forget my dad. At least, I hope I don't.

I don't want to.

But I think my mom is trying to forget.

It's true. When we were moving here to Grandma's, she told me to empty the trashcans around the house. Except I think she forgot about the garbage in her bedroom. It's the big one she used in her office, not the small one that was normally in there. When I went to pull the bag out, I couldn't believe what I found.

A whole bunch of pictures of my dad. Some were loose and scattered everywhere in the trash, and others were still in their broken frames. It looked like my mom just freaked out and hurled them all into the garbage can.

My mom does that a lot lately. Just freaks out and hurls stuff. She's even done it at Grandma's house. I know because I heard my grandma shouting at her from my mom's old bedroom. “Tiffany! Throwing stuff isn't going to make him come back, so stop it.”

My mom stopped it. She had to. Grandma is my mom's mom, and she can be mean sometimes. Grandma says, “It's because I'm the head mom around the house.”

Mom doesn't know, but I saved those pictures. I only cut my finger once pulling them out. I figured that one day, she'll want to remember Dad again. I know I would if I was married to him and he was my handsome prince.

My mom loved my dad's uniform. She was right. He looked just like a handsome prince in it. Maybe that's why Dad died? Maybe the bad guys thought he was a prince and not just a normal dad. You know—a normal dad with a normal family and kids and stuff.

Three kids. The Three Musketeers.

Well, it's a good thing I'm the oldest and I'm a determined girl and saved those photos, so that way I can take out my secret box and pull out Dad's pictures and remember him. One day I'm going to teach my little brother and sister to remember him too. But right now, Mom still freaks out too much. I think I'll keep my secret box a secret for a little while longer.

Besides, now I have something else to figure out—something that's had me puzzled for a whole two days since I went to church with Grandma, and Mom stayed home with the other kids. I have to decide if I want to go back. Grandma's already asked me if I survived and if I wanted to come to church again. I'm not sure. I don't think there's a point in going back. I mean, what if they ask me to make another goal?

I don't think I could handle that. I've got a lot on my plate right now, and the swearing one will keep me busy for the rest of my life. Plus, it just doesn't make sense. Sure, we're promising the Lord, but how does He know, anyway? Just who is this guy, and what makes Him so special that a kazillion other people make promises to Him?

My mom says, “God isn't real.”

My grandma says to me, “Yes, he is, Chelsea, and your mom knows better.”

But how do I know who's right? As far as I can tell, it's one big mess, as messy as the living room when the movers were helping us pack. As far as I can tell, God is invisible, so there's no way to tell which one is right anyway.

Hmm… maybe my mom is right. I'll have to think about it.

Chapter Two

I WENT TO SCHOOL today. I think Wednesdays are the worst days for school. Really. We should have the whole day off, just something fun in the middle of the week to look forward to. I bet I would work much harder if I only had to go to school Monday and Tuesday and then Thursday and Friday.

Maybe I'll ask the principal. I've only been going here about three weeks now, so I'm still new enough to make ideas and point out flaws in the school. I mean, change must be brought up somehow and it might as well happen when someone new comes, someone who can see what needs to be fixed.

Wednesdays need to be fixed.

Why do I get in trouble on Wednesdays? Always on Wednesdays. It's like that day is doomed or something.

The worst part is I've made my mom cry again. I didn't mean to. Honest. Even Grandma, when she came to pick me up from school and heard the teacher's report, got all watery-eyed. I knew if she wasn't standing in that classroom listening to my teacher telling on me, she would've probably started crying too. My mom hates crying in front of strangers.

It started out like any other day—well, except it was Wednesday. I hung my backpack up in the hall at the end of the row of hooks where my name was. Everyone could tell I was new because the sticker with my name on it was a different design and color from the other kids'. I followed some boys into Mrs. Sheridan's fifth-grade class and found my seat near the back by two other girls.

Those girls were actually pretty nice. One was named Sarah, with an “h” at the end, and the other one was called Jasmine.

The problem didn't start until after math, when Mrs. Sheridan asked us all to write about someone special in our lives. Someone we loved very much.

She said, “It can be a family member. Like a mom, dad, grandma, grandpa, brother, sister, aunt, uncle…anyone. Or it could be a special friend or neighbor or a ballet teacher. Anyone special in your life—just choose one person.”

She gave us a whole twenty minutes to write something about this person.

So I chose to write about him. I wish I didn't now. Especially since it made Mom cry, and made Grandma get teary, and made Mrs. Sheridan get mad. I really didn't know it would cause that much trouble if I wrote about him. But it did.

I don't like to say my dad's name very much. It makes my heart hurt, and then I get all quiet and stuff. So I don't. Instead, I call him a prince, just like Mom used to. I like to think of him that way. Handsome and strong and brave and fun and a real good singer and dancer—like all princes are.

Except Dad wasn't a very good singer.

We were supposed to put the name of the person on top of the paper for the title. Well, it was Wednesday, and Wednesdays are just bad, period. So I figured I wouldn't risk it by writing my dad's real name. Instead, I put:

Prince Tennyson.

Then I wrote all about how he and Mom met and how he swept her off her feet and took her to his castle and married her, just like how Mom used to tell me the story when I was little. For some reason, I wanted my new teacher to know it too.

Then I wrote about how I, Princess Chelsea, was born, and he would spin me around and dance with me real close, sometimes just me and him, and sometimes in between him and Mom.