Possible Jenny Story Starter

Well, I wrote something but an author friend (not Miss Colleen, who I know would have loved it) told me it needed to start with more crash-bang action and introduce the conflict right away. So . . . sigh . . . I put it away. But goodness! It’s only a couple of pages long so far, and so I think I can add some conflict after this. And I do need to introduce the family. Well, anyway, here it is. For better or for worse. Maybe some of you have an idea as to what could be crash-bang in this story. Or maybe I should start with a different book. Have at it:

TIMBERLAND ADVENTURES – BOOK ONE

Trouble in Tacoma summary: June is typically rainy in the Puget Sound, but this June it does nothing but rain, rain, rain. The rain combined with the meltoff of the mountain glaciers combine to make the rivers overun their banks and endanger the town. Worse, a log jam blocks the river even worse. The kids get involved and the antagonist (Marshall Dickson, age 13) ends up trying to show he’s the hero by dynamiting the log jam, and hence all the kids are in danger and must find their way back to Tacoma before they all drown (or something like that). I know I need more (a lot more) and that’s why I haven’t really written much but the first couple of pages. BIG SIGH.

CHAPTER ONE – Last Day of School

Tacoma, Washington, June 6, 1879

It was quite possibly the best day of Jenny Grant’s life.

It shouldn’t be my best day, she reasoned, glancing out through the schoolroom’s tall, rain-splattered glass panes. No school day is a good day. Specially when it does nothin’ but rain, rain, rain. Can’t hardly have a decent recess in all this mud.

She tried to “logic it out, Jenny-girl,” like her oldest brother Josiah was always telling her to do, but she couldn’t. The fluttery, happy-go-lucky shivers that raced up her neck made no sense, even if today was her twelfth birthday.

Could having a birthday on the last day of school make it a special—and her best—day? She’d brought up this question that morning as the three youngest Grant children picked their way along the sloppy, mud-encrusted road to school.

“Aw, you’re nuts, Jenny.” Micah had waved her silly question away. “Birthdays are”—he shrugged—“just another day. Only rich city folks fuss over fancy folderols, not folks living in a mudhole like Tacoma.”

“She ain’t either nuts!” Nine-year-old Gideon had rushed to his big sister’s defense. “I betcha nobody in the whole, entire classroom ever had a birthday on the last day of school.” He squinted his bright-blue eyes against the raindrops and glared up at thirteen-year-old Micah. “I can’t think of a way to celebrate a birthday that’s better than having it on the last day of school, can you?”

Micah had laughed and roughed up Gideon’s damp, red curls. “You’re both nuts.” But he grinned at Jenny and nudged her, letting his sister know he didn’t mean anything by his cocky remarks. 

Now, back inside the dreary afternoon session of class, Jenny gave in to her daydreaming about how this might, indeed, be her best day ever. She turned her attention back to the window.

The schoolhouse overlooked most of Tacoma City and New Tacoma, combined into one muddy “stump” town, where loggers had chopped down hundreds and hundreds of trees. From the corner of her eye, Jenny spied the gray smoke billowing up from her family’s sawmill on Commencement Bay. Above the mill, the tall masts of a docked sailing ship came into view, like sharp needles poking the sky. Freshly planed lumber was most likely being loaded, and the ship would soon sail for California . . . or maybe even as far away as the east coast.  

Jenny brightened at a sudden, cheery thought. Gideon’s right! What could be better than knowing she was free from school for three whole months . . . starting tomorrow? First thing in the morning, she’d run down to the sawmill to watch the activities.

“My best birthday ever,” she murmured. Her lips barely moved.

At that exact moment, as if God agreed with Jenny, the early afternoon sun pierced the clouds outside the window. A brilliant rainbow formed an arc that stretched across the sky from one end of Commencement Bay to the other. The water shimmered in the sunlight. Farther east, Mount Tacoma’s snowy peak rose, towering over the Cascade foothills.

Have a happy, special birthday, God seemed to be telling her.

Fresh tingles skittered up Jenny’s spine. It really is my best day! God’s painting a beautiful picture just for me. Just for Jennifer—

“Jennifer Caroline Grant.”

Jenny’s pleasant ponderings shattered. She whipped her head around, swiped unruly strands of red hair away from her face, and focused her gaze on the teacher. “Yes, ma’am?”

Miss Essie sat at her desk, which rested on a raised platform above the classroom. From there, the school mistress had a commanding view of all thirty-five students. She was a small, slender woman, with dark hair parted in the middle and pulled back into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. Round spectacles perched on her nose. She always spoke kindly—if not firmly—and she smiled often.

But in spite of her diminutive appearance, Miss Essie put up with no funny business.

“Why is it, Jennifer, that of all my pupils, your name most often comes to my lips?” she asked, shuffling a stack of composition papers. She focused an annoyed, brown gaze on Jenny. Through her spectacles, Miss Essie’s eyes looked twice their normal size.

Like an owl’s, Jenny decided.

“Must I send you to the corner on the last day of school, Jennifer Caroline, for staring out the window and not studying your lessons?”

Jenny shook her head. “No, ma’am.”

Marshall Dickson snickered from his seat on the boys’ side of the classroom. “The only way to keep Jenny from daydreamin’ out the window is if you board them up.” 

A few children giggled, and Jenny grinned. That ol’ Marshall Dickson was exactly right, and she didn’t care if he teased her about it.

The school mistress rose without scolding Marshall for speaking out of turn. After all, it was the last day of school, and Miss Essie appeared to be in a particularly good mood. She left her “throne” and walked up and down the aisles, passing out the corrected papers. When she reached Jenny’s seat, Miss Essie shook her head and set the paper down on her pupil’s desk.

Jenny studied the number marked in red at the top of her composition: 72. “I passed.” She sighed her relief. Thank You, God! Failing a composition on the last day of school would have for sure turned her best day into her worst day.

“Just barely,” Miss Essie said. “If you woolgathered less and focused more on your schoolwork, you could have scored much higher on this piece, like your brother. Micah scored ninety-nine. You write well, Jennifer. There is no reason why you should not . . .”

Jenny let Miss Essie’s reprimand go into one ear and out the other. Ninety-nine or seventy-two. Who cares? I passed. And good for Micah. Everybody knows he’s the smartest pupil in the class.