"Making Faces" Making Faces is the story of a small town where five young men go off to war, and Harmon, Amy-The Law of [Romance] Making Faces by Amy Harmon #[email protected] Amy Harmon - Making MB. 1 . A Different Blue--Amy KB. Making Faces by Amy Harmon. by Amy Harmon on June 19, Making Faces is the story of a small town where five young men go off to war, and only one.

Making Faces Amy Harmon Epub

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Amy Harmon is a USA Today and New York Times Bestselling author. Her books are now being Amy Harmon Author (). cover image of Making Faces. Harmon, Amy Sutorius, Running Barefoot: a novel / by Amy Harmon. Everything she makes is deep-fried, and her face has a permanent sheen from the. Amy Harmon is a Wall Street Journal, USA Today, and New York Times Bestselling author. Amy knew at an early age that writing was something she wanted to.

Levan is located right in the center of the state, and people from the town like to joke about how Levan is 'navel' spelled backwards - "We're the belly button of Utah," they say.

Not very distinguished I know, but it seems to help people remember the name. Generations of my family have lived in Levan - all the way back to the first settlers in the late 's, when the settlement had the nickname 'Little Denmark. Most of the people in the town were descendants of the fair-haired Danes.

My Jensen ancestors were among those early settlers from Denmark, and my hair is still a pale blonde all these many generations later. My mom, with her rich brown hair, was the only non-blonde in the family, and she had no chance against a very stubborn Danish gene. My dad, my three brothers, and I all share the same fair hair and sky blue eyes as my great, great, Grandfather Jensen who crossed the plains as a very young man, settled in early Levan, built a house, and built a life.

Many years ago, Levan was a thriving little town, or so my dad said. Along Main Street there was Shepherd's Mercantile Store and an ice cream parlor where the ice cream was homemade from the blocks of ice cut and stored during the summer months in a big ice pit covered with earth, salt and straw.

There was a healthy elementary school and a town hall. Then the new freeway was built, and it bypassed Levan by a few miles. The town had never been built to draw attention to itself, but it began a slow death as the trickle of new blood slowed to a stop.

The ice cream parlor was long gone by the time I was born, and then the mercantile had to close its doors. The grade school fell into disrepair, shrinking to a one room schoolhouse as the younger generation grew up and left without anyone to fill the desks they vacated.

The older kids rode a bus for a half hour north to a neighboring town called Nephi for junior and senior high school, and by the time I was old enough for elementary school there was one teacher for the kindergarten through 2nd grades and another for third through sixth grades.

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Some people moved away, but most of the families that had been there for generations hung on and stayed. All that remained along Main Street was a small general store where the townsfolk could download anything from milk to fertilizer. It boasted the name 'Country Mall. Long ago, the owner added a room on each end of the store and rented out the space for some locals to set up shop.

On one end it had a few tables and a little kitchen that served as a diner where the old men sat and drank their coffee in the morning. Johnson to her face ran the diner and has for longer than I can remember.

She's a one woman operation - she cooks, waitresses, and manages it all on her own. She makes fluffy homemade donuts and the best greasy french fries on the planet.

Everything she makes is deep-fried, and her face has a permanent sheen from the grease and the heat - which is how she got the nickname Sweaty Betty. Even cleaned up for church on Sundays her face glows and sadly, it isn't from the Holy Spirit. On the other end my Aunt Louise, my mom's sister, provided cuts, color, and good company for most of the women in Levan.

Making Faces by Amy Harmon

Out in front of the 'mall' there were a couple of gas pumps, and when I was younger, a snow cone shack called Skinny's that Louise's kids my cousins ran in the summer time. Louise's husband Bob was a truck driver and was gone a lot, and Louise had five kids she needed to keep busy while she cut hair.

Louise decided it was time for a family business.

Skinny's Snow Cone Shack was born. Bob built a simple wooden shop that ended up looking a little like a tall skinny outhouse, hence the name Skinny's. The general store sold blocks of ice so they had a convenient source for 'snow. It was a pretty simple business model with a very low overhead. My cousin Tara, who is the same age as me, ate so many snow cones that summer she made herself sick.

She can't stand them to this day; even the smell of snowcones makes her retch. There was a tiny brick post office down the street and a bar called Pete's right next to the church - interesting location, I know. And that was Levan. Everybody knew which skills each person possessed, and we had blacksmiths, bakers, even candlestick makers. My dad could shoe a horse better than anyone; Jens Stephenson was a great mechanic, Paul Aagard, a handy carpenter, and so on. We had talented seamstresses, cooks, and decorators.

Elena Rosquist was a mid-wife and had delivered several babies who had come without much warning, leaving no time to make the drive to the hospital in Nephi.

We made due by trading on our skills, whether we had an actual sign out front or not. Eventually, a few new families moved in to Levan, deciding it wasn't all that far to commute to the bigger cities. It was a good place to settle in and a good place to have and create roots. In very small towns the whole town helps raise the kids.

Everybody knows who everybody is, and if something or someone is up to no good, it gets back to the parents before a kid can get home to tell his side of it. The town wasn't much bigger than a square mile, not counting the outer lying farms, but as a child it was my whole world. Perhaps the smallness of that world made my early loss more bearable, simply because I was looked after and loved by so many. It made my later loss harder to recover from, however, because it was a collective loss, a very young life snuffed out on the brink, a shock to the sleepy community.

No one expected me to move on. Like a shoe that has lost its mate is never worn again, I had lost my matching part and didn't know how to run barefoot. The early loss I refer to was the death of my mother. I was just shy of nine years when Janelle Jensen, wife and mother, succumbed to breast cancer.

I remember clearly how terrified I was when her beautiful hair had fallen out, and she wore a little pink stocking cap on her baby smooth head. She laughed and said she would get a blonde wig to finally match the rest of the family. She never did; she was gone too soon.

She had been diagnosed with cancer just after Christmas.

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The cancer had already spread to her lungs and was inoperable. By the 4th of July she'd already been dead for two weeks. I remember hearing the first sounds of celebration commemorating our country's independence, hating the independence that had been suddenly forced upon me. The jarring crack, boom, and wizz of neighborhood fireworks had my dad's lips tightening and his hands clenching.

He'd looked at us, his four somber tow-heads, and tried to smile. So she named each of her babies a 'J' name to fit the mold.

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She wasn't terribly original, because in Levan you'll find families with all 'K' names, all 'B' names, all 'Q' names. You name the letter, and we've got it.

People even have 'themes' for their children's names - giving them monikers like Brodeo and Justa Cowgirl.

I'm not kidding. I don't know why I remember this, small as it was, but in the days and weeks before my mom died, I don't ever remember her tripping over any of our names. Perhaps the distracting details of daily life that had once made her tongue tied dissolved in their insignificance, and she gave her rapt attention to our every word, our every expression, our every move.

We didn't make it in to see the big fireworks that year. My brothers and I wandered out to watch the neighbors set off bottle rockets and spinners, and my dad spent the night in the barn trying to escape the mocking sounds of revelry. Hard work became my dad's anecdote to depression; he worked endlessly and let alcohol blur the cracks in between.

We had a small farm with chickens and cows and horses, but farming didn't pay well, and my dad worked at the power plant in Nephi to make a living. With three brothers who were much older than I, my duties on our little farm were minimal.

My dad did need a housekeeper and a cook though, and I expected myself to fill my mother's shoes. Jacob, Jared, and Johnny were 7, 6, and 5 years older than I was; My mom always said I was a beautiful surprise and, when she was alive, I had relished the fact that I was the baby girl, doted upon by the whole family.

But with Mom gone everything changed, and nobody wanted a baby anymore. Initially, we had more help than we knew what to do with. Levan is the only town I know where no assignments are ever made to feed a family after a funeral.

Traditionally, we have our viewings the day before the funeral and then again for an hour right before the service. After the funeral and the burial the family and friends come back to the church for a huge meal served up by the good women of the town. No one ever says "I'll bring a cake," or "I'll supply the potatoes. The women of Levan can make a spread unlike anything you've ever seen. I remember walking along the tables laden with food after my mother's funeral, looking at the beautiful assortment, and not having any desire to eat a single bite.

I was too young to understand the concept of comfort food. The bounty continued for days on end after the funeral. Someone different brought dinner every night for three weeks. Nettie Yates, an older woman from down the road, came over almost every other evening and organized the food, putting most of it in containers and freezing it for later.

No family could possibly eat the amount of food we received, even a family with three teenage boys. But eventually the food trickled to a stop, and the people of Levan moved on to other tragedies. My dad wasn't very accomplished in the kitchen, and after months of peanut butter sandwiches and cereal, I asked my Aunt Louise to show me how to make a couple of things. She came over on a Saturday and showed me the basics. I made her outline in minute detail how to boil water Keep the lid on 'til it boils, pull it off once it does!

I wrote everything down very carefully, making Louise describe each step. I wrote out recipes for pancakes turn them over when they get big moon craters in them , spaghetti a touch of brown sugar in the sauce was Louise's secret , and chocolate chip cookies it's the shortening that makes them soft and puffy. Be a Good Friend Be a Soldier Beat Up a Bully Build a Hideaway Live Solve a Mystery Make Friends with a Monster Kiss Rita Take a Stand Eat Pancakes Every Day Finish a Piece Puzzle Get a Pet Climb the Rope Make Fireworks Find the Silver Lining Make Something Disappear Float Across Hannah Lake Invent a Time Machine Get a Tattoo Be a Hero Ride in a Police Car Make it to Twenty-One Always Be Grateful Wrestle Don't be Afraid of Dying Catch a Bad Guy Take Care of Fern Go to Penn State Get Married Epilogue Acknowledgments About the Author.

Read Online Swipe version. Read Online Continuous version. Download now. download a paper book. Related Titles Making Plans by J.

Making Merry by Alexa Land. Making Time by Nicola Claire. Making Waves by Michelle M. Making Angel by Harley Stone.The kind of beautiful that graced the covers of romance novels, and Fern Taylor would know. Mom said I wasn't crying, but when she picked me up I was as stiff as a board, and I had nightmares for weeks afterwards. Running Barefoot - Amy Harmon. The story starts out in New York City and we are taken on an incredible journey through time to the beautiful Ireland when she was fighting for her independence and sitting o There was a healthy elementary school and a town hall.

Absolutely spellbinding, heartbreaking, emotional and powerful. Thank you so much for accepting my friend request! This is my first Amy Harmon book and I guarantee--it won't be my last.

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