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  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.

  Mom and I really liked that—to dance together, all of us. It made us giggle like crazy.

  I also wrote about how Prince Tennyson used to read me bedtime stories and then tickle me until I shouted, “Uncle!”

  That drove Mom crazy. She would come into my room every night with her hands on her hips, saying, “Ryan! How is she supposed to go to sleep with you tickling her to death?” But my mom wasn’t really mad, I could tell. She always had a smile when she said it.

  The part that I guess I shouldn’t have written, and the part that I think made my teacher mad, was that I said Prince Tennyson flew off to battle. Maybe I should’ve just said that he was normal and went to work on computers somewhere in a bank or something. I don’t know. It couldn’t have been anything else, because Mrs. Sheridan wouldn’t let me read the rest of it.

  She just said, “Chelsea! That is enough. You will not read out loud anymore.” Then she walked over and asked for my paper.

  Not that anyone would’ve heard what I said, anyway—the class was laughing too much. I guess no one ever thought of their dad as a prince before.

  After Mrs. Sheridan snatched up my paper, she walked to the front of the room and tore it up. That made me sad, especially when the class laughed more. Then my teacher said really loudly to everyone else, “I don’t want to hear any more fairy tales, do you understand? School will be taken seriously, or I will call your parents, just like I’m calling Chelsea’s.”

  I sat down and put my head in my arms for the rest of the time the kids talked about their favorite people. I didn’t care if I got into trouble for not listening. It’s all because it was a stupid Wednesday, anyway. If it was Thursday, this never would’ve happened.

  I really needed to talk to the principal about Wednesdays.

  Grandma was very mad when we drove home. She kept swearing under her breath and saying how she hated the arrogance and rudeness of some people. I just looked out the window and didn’t say a word. I couldn’t. Grandma was almost crying and my heart hurt really badly.

  When we got home, I let Grandma tell my mom. I knew she was going to be really sad. She was. When I walked by later, I heard her sniffling into her pillow on her bed. Her door was open, so I peeked inside.

  She looked like a little girl, with her pink frilly bed and ruffly curtains hanging around her.

  I wanted to tell my mom I was sorry, that I didn’t mean to make her cry. But then I heard her whisper, “Prince Tennyson, Prince Tennyson, Prince Tennyson…” over and over again. I decided now was not a good time.

  Instead, I went and found my little brother in my Uncle Jeremy’s old room. He was playing with a whole bunch of cars, the Hot Wheels kind. Cameron was just a baby when my dad left for battle, only a few months old. Now he was two and two months. Dad was supposed to come back the week before Cameron’s first birthday. We were going to have a huge party for my brother and my dad all on the same day. Except Dad never came home.

  It was Wednesday when they said my dad wasn’t coming home.

  I hate Wednesdays.

  If God is real, I wonder if he hates Wednesdays too.

  Chapter Three

  GRANDMA SAYS THE GOOD Lord loves Wednesdays just as much as any other day. I never thought about it before—Wednesday being the same as any other day. It seemed weird somehow.

  Since today was Thursday, I decided I was going to tell her what I thought, but my mom came into the room while I was eating my breakfast.

  She got some cereal and sat at the table right next to me. I was surprised to see that she was all the way dressed with makeup on and everything. She looked really pretty with makeup, but she hardly ever wore it anymore.

  “Mom, where are you going?”

  “Going?” She looked at me funny and smiled before she brought her arm around my shoulders and pulled me toward her. I felt a kiss go on my head, just like how Dad used to kiss me. “Honey, how are you feeling?” She gave my shoulder another squeeze and pulled back to look in my eyes.

  “Good. Why?”

  Mom shrugged. “I don’t know. I was just wondering if you wanted to skip school and do something with me today.”

  “Do something with—”

  “You know, in case you don’t feel like going back there.”

  “What?” Mom was acting different than I’d ever seen her before. I couldn’t believe what she was actually saying. I watched her eyes for a moment to see if she was playing some sort of trick. They weren’t exactly happy eyes, but they weren’t sad, either. In fact, Mom’s brown eyes looked perfectly serious. “Um, okay.”

  “Great.” My mom smiled. I waited until the smile lit up her eyes, too—it didn’t. Instead, she asked, “So, where do you want to go?” and then took a deep breath and smiled again.


  I could tell Mom was trying to be brave. As I sat there at the breakfast table, for the first time it actually hit me that she wasn’t. All at once, I wondered how hard it must’ve been for her to move us from California to Grandma Haney’s house here in Arizona. She must’ve been very scared and worried about it.

  “I don’t care. We could go to a park somewhere, maybe?”

  Mom thought about the park and then she nodded. “Yeah, that’s a good idea. And since it’s February, it’s not too hot.” She patted the table and took another deep breath. “Well, let me get your sister ready for school and Cameron fed, and then we’ll head out, okay? Grandma has already offered to watch little Cam for us while you and I have a special day. Does that sound good?”

  I couldn’t believe she was asking my opinion. “Sure.” And it did sound good. It sounded really good. I didn’t remember the last time me and my mom had spent a whole day together. As I went to put my bowl in the sink, my tummy got a little bit nervous until I remembered that today was Thursday and Thursdays were always better than Wednesdays.

  In the room that me and Hannah, my sister, shared, I quickly put my backpack on the floor by the closet and changed my P.E. shoes to my purple sparkly flats. Then I put on my new blue jacket. I buttoned it up over my shirt and looked in the mirror to see if I looked nice.

  I loved my new jacket with the purple butterfly. It looked really pretty with my light brown hair that I got from my mom.

  Grandma said that I looked more and more like my mom every day. I scrunched up my nose and leaned into the mirror. I hoped so.

  “Hey, Mom wants to know if you’re ready.” Hannah skipped up behind me.

  “Yep.” I scrunched my nose up one more time and looked down at her in the mirror.

  She giggled. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  She was already out the door when I turned around.