Actual home of my Jensen great-great-grandparents in Brigham City. It's supposed to be the house in the book, but... let's just say I took liberties with when it was built.
When I was 13, I lived in Utah during its centennial. One of our class projects for my fabulous English/history class was to write a story about Utah history (preferably about our own ancestors). While unpacking boxes in my office tonight, I found my book and thought it'd be fun to transcribe the text. Kind of a fun stroll down memory lane. The fact that the book is dedicated to my grandma, who is one of my favorite folks in the world and who won't be here much longer, makes it all the more tender.
The story's not perfect by any means -- the ending is pretty rushed, the likely result of perpetual Christa procrastination, and the development needs work -- but it's not half bad! Makes me wonder what I could've accomplished if I'd pursued writing more. "But Christa," you say, "you are a writer. Professionally. For a decade now, hon." To which I say... sure... but... as a trade. Not for creativity's sake. We've discussed this before. There's a difference. Still... time to finally write that book, methinks.
To let you in on a little running gag... my grandmother is descended from two lines of Jensens. So the guy that Emma's family keeps trying to push at her is actually another one of my ancestors, too, just on the other side.
Also, fun fact: researching this book was the first time I ever went on the interwebs!!! I distinctly remember the librarian taking me to a small computer lab and showing me this newfangled World Wide Web circa 1996. In fact, I still remember how the webpage about the Brigham City Co-op looked!
And now, without further adieu... in unedited, 13-year-old Christa prose...
Emma
by Christa Jeanne [Last Name]
I dedicate this book to my wonderful grandmother, Doris Elaine Jensen [Last Name], who helped me so much with ideas and took me on a historical tour for illustrations. Thanks for the fun day!
* * *
"Emma! Eh-maah!" The exasperated cry rang throughout the newly built brick house. "Emma Lovisa Jensen, come here right now!"The wedding bells that were ringing in Emma's mind quickly faded as her daydream stopped soddenly. "Coming, Mother," she replied. An embroidery needle pricked her index finger as she hastily set the white handkerchief down. "Ow!" Emma cried out in pain as she hurried to get a bandage of some sort. She wrapped a strip of tan linen around the bleeding fingertip. "Yes, mama?"
"Emma," Valana Jensen asked her daughter, "would you please go to the general store and buy a pound of sugar?" As soon as Em's mouth opened in protest, Lana hurried on. "We're having company for tea. Elder Snow and Sister Snow will be here, so I was planning to fix kringle, but there is no more sugar. Ask that Isaac Jensen to carry them home for you. He is so nice," she barely finished. Emma rolled her eyes. Lana just handed her daughter a dollar bill. "Oh, Em, could you pick up a newspaper? Your father wants to see who the new President is. Good ol' U.S. Grant was running." Sighing, she entered the kitchen. The smell of sweet cake dough and chopped nuts filled the air. "Emma just isn't interested in getting married like Belana, is she, Abby?" she asked the golden retriever. Abby just wagged her golden-gray tail sympathetically.
* * *
Emma sighed as she bought the pound of sugar. Why didn't Mother think that she couldn't find someone to marry. Besides, she was only sixteen and Brigham City was full of guys. Anyway, everyone knew that Isaac liked Lenora Hansen. Just because Belana was getting married didn't mean that Emma was ready to get married. She paid for the sugar and left the store. Oh, well. Emma began humming the wedding march as she exited. If only she could find the right guy --
"Ugh!" Emma pushed her reddish-brown hair out of her face and looked up from the pavement. The sugar was safe and sound in its bag. Next tot he bad was one hand. Emma followed the arm that was connected to the hand.
Another hand was extended to her. She took the hand and rose. Rising, Emma, followed the hand to an arm and then to a face. A handsome face.
"I'm sorry," the person said apologetically. "My name is Brigham. Brigham Andersen."
"Hello. I am Emma Jensen," she said softly. Her heart fluttered.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Jensen," Brigham said politely. He picked up the bag of sugar and walked, following Emma's lead. She walked up the street, blushing. Her blue eyes met his. She was so busy watching Brigham instead of the street that she walked straight into Aunt Mary Maria, affectionately known as Aunt Ryer.
"Hello, I mean, good morning, Aunt Mary Maria," Emma said timidly.
"You needn't be so formal, Emma. We are not at a formal affair, are we?" Aunt Ryer said crisply. "Should not you be hurrying along. Elder and Sister Snow are joining us for tea. So is Brother M.C. Jensen. I hear that he has a fine son, Isaac." Emma laughed, in spite of herself. Aunt Ryer left as they approached Emma's house. Brigham stepped inside at Emma's invitation. His curly brown hair was tangled from the breeze outside.
"May I call on you tomorrow?" he asked.
"Umm, uh, sure," Emma dreamily whispered. His brown eyes twinkled as he left. She went back inside and ran to her room to change for tea. As Emma raced up the stairs, she nearly tripped over Abby. She just looked up at Emma. Emma smiled, scratched behind Abby's ear, and went to Belana's room. Belana was sitting on her bed, monogramming her trousseau. Her brown curls fell down her back. "Bel," asked Emma, "can I borrow your midnight blue satin?"
"Mm-hmm," Belana answered dreamily. Emma was amazed. Bel never let anyone touch that dress. Emma just grabbed the dress and hurried before Bel could change her mind. After she changed, she pulled up her hair and sighed. Brigham was so sweet, but did he like her? Maybe. If only they could go to some sort of a--
"An ice cream social!" exclaimed Elder Snow. Lorenzo Snow was a short man with wire-framed glasses that always slipped down his nose. "That's a magnificent idea, Brother Jensen. What do you think, M.C.?" he asked. One wiry white hair stuck straight up from his head. When they saw Emma, the men were very secretive about the social. Hmmm, thought Emma. A social! That's just the thing. But how to get him to ask? That was the question. Emma hurried to help her mother in the kitchen. The traditional Danish kringle was finished. The house smelled of cinnamon and spice. Emma cut the kringle and dished it up. As she served it to her brothers and sisters, she laughed. Her brothers were dressed in their Sunday clothes, which they all despised. The eldest brother, Thomas, who was twelve, had his unruly black hair slicked back. Little Andrew, who was only two, had his messy blond hair parted down the middle. He beamed angelically. Little Hiram Jr. was wearing shoes that were two sizes too big, but no one would notice. It was hilarious!
After tea, six of the nine children ran outside to play with Aunt Ryer in hot pursuit. The men went into the study to discuss plans for "a secret." Mother, Belana, and Susanna, the fourteen-year-old, went into the kitchen to wash the dishes. Emma went outside to the porch and sat on the porchswing that Father had built with Thomas the summer before. The sunset lit up the sky and set clouds on fire. Emma just sat there and smiled. It was wonderful. It reminded her of Brigham.
* * *
Emma took her hair out from the curlers that Belana had put in her hair. She was just barely finished when Abby ran into the room and tugged at Emma's dress. A wave of fear washed over her. "What's wrong, girl?" she gently asked. Abby dragged her downstairs to the kitchen. Mother was just lying there, lifeless. Emma screamed a blood-curdling scream. "Belana! Aunt Ryer! Susie! Somebody, HELP!!"
Emma ran down the street, hair flying, as she ran to Doc Marten's house and pounded on the door. When the doctor answered, she grabbed his arm and ran back home. She led Doc to her mother's body. Little Andrew was crying with Lena, the four-year-old. Doc just sat there, trying to figure out what had happened.
Doc Marten said that she had had a stroke. That now Mama's left side would be partially paralyzed. She could walk, with a cane. Doc said that we were lucky she wasn't badly hurt. Lucky, huh. "I don't think we're all that lucky," grumbled William, the six-year-old.
"Me too," whined Hannah, the eight-year-old. Emma just sighed. Now what, she wondered. Mama was okay, but she couldn't go to the social now. Not with mother in the bad shape she was in. Belana had gone to the social with George. How shallow. What a lack of emotion! Brigham would be here any --
Knock, knock! Now Brig was here. What should she tell him? She opened the door. There was Brigham, holding a dozen daisies. "Well, Cinderella, shall we go to the ball?" he asked. She looked down and blushed. Her feet were bare and she was wearing an old gray wool dress.
"Um, Brigham, I can't go." He looked crestfallen. The daisies hung limply from his hand. My mother had a stroke and so I really need to stay with her." Emma lightly put a hand on his arm. "Maybe we can go to see the joining of the rails. It's in two weeks. I'm sorry."
Brigham looked up and forced a disappointed smile. "That's okay," he said as he handed Emma the flowers. "I'm sorry too."
* * *
"Wow," Hiram Jr. cried excitedly as the golden spike was tapped into the laurelwood tie. Brigham and Emma just smiled at each other. Now Mother knew that Emma wanted to get married. Father hugged Mother as she hobbled forward on her cane. Emma smiled. Things can turn out well, with a little sugar.
About the Author
Christa Jeanne [Last Name] was born on 30 August 1982, in La Crescenta, California. She grew up in Glendale and La Crescenta, both in California. At age 13, she moved. She currently lives in Provo, Utah, with her father, step-mother, 15-year-old brother, and three cats: Anita, Maria, and Angus. Christa is a bookworm and an avid photographer. She loves cats, dogs, and the Beatles. She hopes to write another book soon.
