Sierra Jensen Collection, Vol 3 Sierra Jensen Collection, Vol 3

by Robin Jones Gunn

  She continued to write as Tyler slept. She filled four pages before the bedroom door opened. The light from the hallway flooded the room, and someone flipped on the bedroom light. Sierra squinted, trying to see who it was. Tyler woke up and immediately started to cry.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Caleb, her fourteen-year-old cousin, said. “My mom told me to bring my stuff up ’cuz I’m sleeping here. Why’s he crying?” Caleb dropped his gear on the floor and cracked his knuckles nervously.

  “It’s okay,” Sierra said, going to Tyler’s side to comfort him. The minute she touched him she said, “Oh, baby, you’re burning up.”

  She put her hand on his hot forehead. Tyler only cried louder.

  “Caleb, tell Katrina to come up right away.”

  Caleb fled the room.

  “You want a drink of water, Tyler?”

  “I want my mommy!”

  “She’s coming, Little Bear. Here, let’s take off this sweatshirt.”

  Tyler squirmed and resisted, but Sierra kept at it, knowing he would feel better.

  “There. Now let me take off your socks. We have to cool you down.”

  Just then Katrina flew in the open door. She took over immediately, calmly asking Sierra to bring a cold washcloth and to find the liquid Tylenol in Katrina’s cosmetic bag in the bathroom. By the time Sierra returned, Tyler had stopped crying and was sucking on his first two fingers as Katrina rocked him in her lap. After Sierra did all she could to help, she gathered up her papers and told Katrina she would slip out now.

  “Homework?” Katrina asked, eyeing the many pages.

  “Oh, no,” Sierra said, feeling herself blush. “Just a letter.”

  “Oh?” Katrina responded, with a knowing smile. “You’ll have to tell me about him sometime.”

  Sierra nodded and left. She hadn’t told many people about Paul and their growing relationship. She had e-mailed Christy several times and had asked advice once or twice. And she had told her best friend, Vicki, a little bit. Tawni, of course, knew because of her close relationship with Paul’s brother, Jeremy. But that was about it. It wasn’t the same as having a boyfriend who showed up on her doorstep every other day. All Sierra had were letters that showed up every now and then, and she was usually the one who collected the mail. So no one knew how frequently Paul was writing her.

  Standing in the hallway, Sierra felt lost. She didn’t know exactly where to go. She probably shouldn’t barge into her own room to put away the letter in case someone was trying to sleep. And she knew Granna Mae and possibly other people were in Granna Mae’s room, so Sierra didn’t feel comfortable barging in there. She opted for keeping the letter in her backpack, which hung on the coat rack downstairs.

  Gently folding the two onionskin sheets together and sliding it into her sweatshirt pocket, Sierra headed downstairs. The noise level rose with each step down. Just as she reached the entryway, the front door opened, and Wesley and Tawni stepped in.

  “Hello!” Wesley greeted her, his booming voice sounding just like their father’s.

  Sierra received his warm hug and looked over his shoulder to see if his new girlfriend stood behind him. Only Tawni was there, shaking the rain off her jacket and smoothing back her long hair. The last time Sierra had seen her sister, Tawni’s hair was a deep mahogany. Tonight it was white-blond, a much lighter blond than her natural color, and she wore long, layered bangs. She looked like a different person.

  “Man,” Tawni said, slipping off her coat before stepping all the way in. “When it rains here, it sure pours. What a night!”

  “Oh, you don’t know the half of it,” Sierra murmured in her sister’s ear as she reached out to hug her.

  To Sierra’s surprise, Tawni kissed her lightly on the cheek. This was new, too. Tawni had never been one to initiate affection. But she held Sierra close an extra moment and whispered, “I have something to tell you. Promise you won’t tell anyone?”

  Pulling away, Sierra looked into the face of her oh-so-changed sister and gave her an expectant expression. Tawni raised an eyebrow and tilted her head, waiting for Sierra to promise.

  “I promise.” Sierra whispered the words so not even Wesley could hear them above the chatter in the living room and kitchen.

  “Tawni, Wes!” Uncle Jack burst upon them and called over his shoulder to the rest of the group the glad announcement that the last of the clan had arrived.

  The swarm of relatives buzzed toward them. Just before the lovely queen bee, Tawni, was swept up in their frenzy, she turned to Sierra and mouthed the word “Later.”

  four

  NO ONE SLEPT WELL in the Jensen home that Thanksgiving eve night. Tyler’s fever didn’t break, and he woke up crying every few hours. Caleb couldn’t sleep in the same room with Tyler, so he took his sleeping bag downstairs. Uncle Jack tripped over him when the older man went looking for a glass of milk sometime around three o’clock. Marshall had to go to the bathroom, causing the upstairs toilet to overflow again. He cried out frantically for his mom, and Sierra’s dad appeared to help. But it didn’t matter. The whole household was awake from all the commotion except, thankfully, Granna Mae, who had talked in her sleep between midnight and two o’clock, waking the five on her bedroom floor. Sierra had lain awake long hours, worrying that Granna Mae might get up in the middle of the night and stumble over one of them.

  The night’s fiascoes, mixed with the ceaseless rain and wailing winds, made for a houseful of grouchy people at breakfast. Everyone had a different story to tell about his or her experience in the night.

  Sharon Jensen had risen early, or perhaps never went to bed by the look of the dark circles under her eyes. She put the huge turkey in the oven before dawn and managed to set enough coffee and bagels out on the counter to soothe the savage beasts that lumbered down the stairs. One thing the Jensens all liked was strong black coffee. Mrs. Jensen kept the coffeemaker perking so the rich aroma filled the house.

  Having had her fill of stories around the kitchen counter, Sierra slid past two of her aunts, who were insisting Sierra’s mom give them something to do to help with the dinner. Sierra pulled a china cup and saucer from the cupboard and prepared a breakfast tray for Granna Mae.

  Just as she placed the buttered toast and small tumbler of juice on the tray, her mother touched Sierra’s arm and said, “Thank you, honey. May I assign Granna Mae to you for the next day or two? Make sure she gets her meals, okay? I thought I had that covered, but it’s gotten away from me.”

  “Sure, I’ll take care of her. Is there anything else you want me to do?”

  “Just the dishes whenever you can. I’m sure I’ll have the dishwasher running around the clock.”

  Sierra hated to do the dishes. She didn’t know why; she just did. If she thought of doing them on her own and went about the task, it was no big deal. Then she felt she was helping out without being told. But if she was asked to do them, a spirit of rebellion rose inside her and whatever happiness she felt vanished.

  This morning she clenched her jaw and forced herself to smile and nod to her frenzied mother. Sierra knew deep down that it was the least she could do to help out, especially since she had done so little yesterday.

  Sierra had to watch her every step on the way to Granna Mae’s room. She successfully navigated the minefield of people’s belongings and found Granna Mae dressed and making her bed. The white-haired soul appeared clear thinking and well rested.

  “Oh, Lovey, you are too good to me.” Granna Mae smoothed back the quilt and sat down at the little corner table Howard Jensen had built to make his mother’s bedroom meals more convenient. It sat next to the window, covered with a floral tablecloth and set with the hen and rooster salt and pepper shakers that had resided faithfully on the kitchen counter for as long as anyone could remember.

  Sierra placed the tray on the table and asked if she could bring anything else.

  “No, no. This is wonderful. I imagine you’re eager to spend time with all your cousins. You don’t hav
e to stay.” Granna Mae picked up her favorite china cup and drew it to her lips with shaky hands.

  Sierra realized she hadn’t spent time with any of her relatives, since she had preferred to “be” with Paul the night before. The way she felt this morning, the only relative she wanted to talk to was Wesley, to find out why he hadn’t brought home a guest. She also wanted to pry Tawni’s big secret out of her. During the restless night, Sierra had made up lists of what the news could be. She narrowed it down to four possibilities: Tawni’s going back to school, as Paul had written; hearing from her birth mother; becoming engaged to Jeremy; or landing a great modeling job. Tawni modeled full-time, but not every assignment was to her liking, such as a western-wear catalog shoot that had subjected her to country music for an entire day. And not every assignment paid well.

  Sierra had considered coaxing the news from Tawni during one of the many awake sessions during the night, but then others in the room might have heard them. Besides, Tawni wasn’t much of a night person.

  But before Sierra knew it, the morning had fled, with Sierra running first downstairs to help out in the kitchen and then upstairs on some urgent errand and then back down the stairs, over and over again.

  By two o’clock, the Jensen flock were gathered in the dining room and spilling over into the adjacent living room, where more tables were set up. The nicely browned turkey graced the center of the dining room table. The rain had stopped about an hour earlier, and weary autumn sunbeams tunneled their way through the clouds, weaving themselves through the lace curtains along the south side of the dining room. Only the bravest sunbeams made the long journey, and when they arrived on Granna Mae’s best ivory linen tablecloth, they danced for joy among the cranberries and the mashed potatoes.

  The Jensen family stood and held hands. Tyler was back to his sweet self and wanted to be next to Sierra to hold her hand. Katrina had blamed the fever and rough night on a molar that had broken through on the bottom right side of Tyler’s mouth sometime in the night. Sierra wondered how mothers ever figured out these things.

  Granna Mae stood at the head of the table, smiling contentedly and appearing delighted to have so many of her family members together. The merry sunbeams seemed to find her soft hair a pleasant place to end their journey, and there they stayed. Sierra smiled at the sight of her grandmother standing straight and still, oblivious to her beautiful “halo.”

  The rooms grew silent, and Granna Mae pronounced a blessing on the family. “May the Lord continue to show His grace and mercy to our family. May we live each day for Him with hearts full of love. And may we never cease to be thankful.”

  “Amen,” one of the men echoed.

  “Howard,” Granna Mae said, turning to Sierra’s dad, “would you do us the honor of giving thanks to our heavenly Father?”

  “Sure. Let’s pray.”

  As they bowed their heads, Mr. Jensen began to pray eloquently, as well as at length. The family had much for which to be thankful.

  Sierra’s chair was next to her mother’s, close to the kitchen. As her father continued to pray, Sierra’s nose picked up the scent of something burning. Dozens of fragrances had run through the house that day, but this was a new scent and not a pleasant one. Sierra let go of Tyler’s hand and slipped into the kitchen. She checked the stove and saw that all the burners were turned off. Then she turned to the oven and noticed thin ribbons of smoke wafting through the door.

  Grabbing a pot holder, she pulled open the door. Long flames rose from the pan of sweet potatoes and lunged toward her, hungry for the oxygen around her. Sierra let out a scream and put up her arm to block her face from the fire. Her mother appeared instantly and kicked the oven’s door shut. It wasn’t enough to contain the fire. The flames crawled up the cupboard, where Sierra’s mom kept miscellaneous supplies that didn’t fit in the pantry. Immediately, the stench of melting plastic filled the air. Sierra realized the arm of her sweater was smoking and pulled it off. She checked the arm of her turtleneck shirt. The flames hadn’t gone through the sweater.

  “Everyone out!” Sharon Jensen yelled. “We have a fire.”

  Pandemonium broke loose. Sierra felt her mother pushing her away from the oven and toward the back door.

  Howard Jensen appeared in the kitchen and yelled, “Where’s the fire extinguisher?”

  “In the basement,” his wife responded.

  Sierra considered going after the extinguisher, but someone was pushing her out the back door. Everyone was talking and yelling at once. As soon as they burst through the door, Brutus leaped from his doghouse and barked and barked.

  Wesley was behind Sierra. He seemed to be taking a head count. Some of the family had exited the front door, and two of the younger boys had run around to the back of the house and were excitedly asking, “Is the fire truck going to come?”

  “Sierra,” Wesley said, “run next door to call the fire department.”

  “We’ll go with you,” the two boys said.

  Sierra didn’t wait for them. She took off running. This all felt vaguely familiar. She had been the one to make the emergency call last spring in California when Christy’s uncle Bob had been burned by a fire from an exploding gas barbecue. That experience helped Sierra keep her thoughts clear this time.

  Mr. DeVries opened his front door before Sierra even reached his steps. “What’s all the noise about?”

  “Fire,” was her simple explanation as she ran into his kitchen and dialed 911. Taking a deep breath, she calmly relayed the information. The fire trucks arrived in less than five minutes, and the family was ordered to cross the street. Everyone had a different theory on what had happened. Sierra repeated again exactly how she had discovered the fire. She scanned the group and breathed easier when she spotted Granna Mae. Her grandmother looked shaken, but Emma had her arm around the older woman’s shoulders.

  “It was the marshmallows on top of the sweet potatoes,” Aunt Frieda explained to a group of neighbors who came bustling up to the Jensens. “Sharon put the tray back in the oven and set it on broil. She planned to brown those marshmallows for only a minute. Then we forgot and sat down to eat, and my brother had to pray the world’s longest Thanksgiving prayer.”

  “You make it sound as though it was my dad’s fault,” Dillon said, stepping boldly between Aunt Frieda and the neighbor. “It wasn’t his fault. It’s an old house, and stuff in it breaks all the time. There was probably something wrong with the oven.”

  “I don’t see any flames,” Caleb said. “Can’t we go back over there to see if they smashed down the door with their axes?”

  “We’ll wait until the firefighters tell us we can go back,” Uncle Jack said. “Or until Howard comes out and waves us back.”

  Sierra froze. Where was her dad? Had he gone into the basement for the extinguisher? He hadn’t gotten caught in the fire, had he? She scanned the growing clump of spectators. Neither her father nor her mother was in the crowd.

  five

  “WESLEY, WHERE ARE MOM AND DAD?” Sierra tugged on her brother’s arm. The rain had begun again, and she shivered in her thin turtleneck. She had left her sweater on the kitchen floor.

  “I thought they were here,” he said, looking around.

  “I haven’t seen them,” Sierra said. “What if they went down in the basement, and the firefighters don’t know they’re trapped?”

  “Everyone else stay here,” Wesley ordered, taking Sierra by the arm and running across the street in the rain.

  Just as they reached the other side, a firefighter came out the front door and waved to the family members, indicating they could return.

  “Where are my parents?” Sierra asked. “Are they okay?”

  “They sure are. Thanks to them your house is okay—or at least most of your house. Your dad used a fire extinguisher to put out the fire. All we did was check for hot spots. Everything is okay. Looks like you folks will still have your Thanksgiving dinner, minus the yams and with a smoked turkey.”

&nbs
p; Some of the others who arrived in time to hear his comment chuckled, but Sierra thought the guy couldn’t have made a worse joke.

  Nearly an hour later, the family was ready to gather around the table again. Everyone had wanted to inspect the damage personally. The oven would need to be replaced and the cabinets over the oven rebuilt, but the fire hadn’t spread elsewhere, which everyone considered amazing.

  The smell was the awful part. Everything was permeated with the stench of smoke. All the windows and doors were open, and the heater ran full blast. Sierra laughed to herself when she looked around the table and noticed a number of relatives wearing their coats. Paul would have felt right at home. She couldn’t wait to add a lengthy P.S. to her letter to him.

  Howard Jensen prayed again. This time his prayer was a short but humbling one. Everyone agreed with the “Amen” as they realized even more vividly all they had to be thankful for.

  The food was passed around with no attempt to warm it. Sharon Jensen had tried to put the food in the microwave in stages, but everyone convinced her it would be fine just the way it was. Howard Jensen carved, and everyone dished up. In shifty-eyed silence, they began to eat, each waiting for the others to say something.

  Finally, Sharon Jensen put down her fork and said in a voice choked with tears, “This is awful! It all tastes like smoke.” Then she burst out laughing.

  The pressure seemed to release for all of them as they laughed, cried, and joked about the food along with Mrs. Jensen. In the end, no one ate much except the olives, which for some reason didn’t taste smoky. The entire dinner was sent to the trash cans outside instead of being neatly wrapped and stacked in the refrigerator, supplies for late-night turkey sandwiches.