Sisters in the Cornfield

By Loretta Wyer

Jennie O’Malley may seem like she has it all together, but her orderly and stylish life in Florence starts to fall apart when she is unexpectedly called home to Monterey, California to say her final goodbyes to her beloved father, Shaun. A warm and charismatic innkeeper and pub proprietor, Shaun has left Jennie not only the family business, but also shoes that Jennie fears she can never fill. On top of that, long-hidden family secrets slowly emerge, leaving Jennie questioning her relationship with her father, her ancestry, her future, and even the core of who she thinks she is. Thankfully, a loyal family friend, a handsome academic, and a mysterious and intriguing voice from the past are there to guide her on her journey. Along the way, Jennie discovers that unlocking a door to the past can open up a pathway to learning, loving, and letting go.

Combining engaging characters with meticulously curated historical detail, Sisters in the Cornfield weaves a cross-generational narrative, interlacing the history of Native peoples in California, questions of cultural belonging, and the strength of familial bond.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Oct 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9781665501880

Loretta Wyer

Loretta Wyer was born and raised in Monterey County. She is a member of the Esselen Nation, the indigenous people of the Monterey Bay Area. During her nine years as tribal chair, Loretta fought for federal tribal recognition and the return of ancestral lands to the tribe. She is a musician, artist, and trained pastry chef, and has had careers in bookkeeping and hotel management. Loretta lives in Fresno, California and enjoys playing piano and baking with her three children, seven grandchildren, and four great-grandchildren. Sisters in the Cornfield is her first novel.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Is death an end or a beginning? Jennie hadn’t a clue, and being Catholic—though in name only—wasn’t helping her current spiritual dilemma. Though she wanted an answer, Jennie’s pragmatic nature told her she wasn’t likely to get one, at least not today.

Looking out the airplane window as the crew prepared for landing, Jennie felt that her mood perfectly matched the June gloom over Monterey Bay. Great, she mumbled sarcastically. And though everyone else on that plane could see the fog was beginning to lift, Jennie, fully immersed in her own mental obscurity, could not.

During the whole flight home, Jennie kept hoping against all hope that Caitriona was wrong about her father. Caitriona’s mistaken. There’s no way he’s dying. He’s always been as healthy as an ox, Jennie grumbled to herself as she left the airport terminal. But when she approached the family inn’s limo and saw the concerned expression on the face of Charles, their longtime chauffeur and family friend, denial gave way to fear, and the knots holding her stomach hostage intensified.

Welcome home, Miss Jennie, Charles said warmly. Miss Caitriona instructed me to take you home straight away. She’ll join you there shortly, but she thought you might want to freshen up a bit before seeing your da.

Thank you, Charles, was the only response she could muster.

Do you have more luggage inside, Miss? Charles asked, but Jennie’s glazed look was his only answer. Is there more luggage inside, Miss Jennie, that you need me to bring out?

Oh, no. This suitcase is all I brought.

Okay, Miss, let’s get you settled in. I’ll have you home within fifteen, twenty tops. And true to his word, he did.

===<<<>>>===

Only at Jennie’s insistence did Charles deposit her suitcase on the front curb, instead of inside as Caitriona had instructed him. Rolling her eyes, Jennie thought about the lecture coming her way and mumbled, I’m sure I’ll hear about this later. But it was worth the price she’d pay. Jennie desperately needed time alone to collect herself before Caitriona dropped by.

Relieved that Charles hadn’t put up a fuss at her quietly sending him on his way, she finally began to relax. In the last forty-eight hours, life had become a whirling dervish, spinning what was left of her tattered emotions around and around, and all she wanted was for the crazy dance to stop.

When Jennie had gotten the call to come home, she had been enjoying a balmy evening with friends at one of her favorite spots, a wine bar on the picturesque Piazza Della Signoria in Florence. Jennie loved her life there, but she had known that her stay might be nearing its end. Three years she’d been gone. She hadn’t planned to be away so long, but she had fallen in love with the Italian people and their relaxed lifestyle. Their zest for life was infectious, and for someone as reserved as Jennie, the ease with which she made friends was a significant inducement to stay. Regret had never haunted her until now.

Finally, facing the home she had run away from so long ago, she closed her eyes and shut out the world. She allowed herself to be carried away by the fragrances surrounding her, and just for the briefest of moments, the reason she had come home faded away.

The stately, two-story, arts-and-crafts-style family home was idyllic as it sat back from the street, surrounded by a beautifully landscaped yard. As Jennie knew, that yard had been cultivated over the years with love and attention. The house’s generous porch, sporting two old wicker rockers nestled among potted plants, and the American flag gently blowing in the breeze beckoned her inside and made her question why she had ever left.

Closing her eyes and inhaling deeply, Jennie indulged her senses in the moment, which brought to mind a time when her father had tried to teach her about gardening. Then falling into her old childhood habit of self-talk, she whispered, I’m detecting faint traces of gardenias. Honeysuckle and jasmine too. Then she laughed and boasted, I still got it, Da!

Gentle words from her father came to mind, and she smiled. There’s nothing like the scent of flowers to relax the old nerves, is there, lass? he had asked her. Finally her mood became more peaceful. This place was her home, and the connection she had feared she’d lost forever was still here.

Just standing there for a few moments applied a healing balm to Jennie’s wounded spirit. Her old friend, her childhood home, was waiting for her, beckoning her inside with open arms and offering her much-needed comfort. Warmed by such a welcome, she declared, Hello, beautiful! I’m back. I know I’ve been gone too long. Too long indeed.

CHAPTER 2

Numb and barely breathing, Jennie forced herself to listen to the family priest administer last rites to her father. There was no escaping the truth that the final goodbye was upon her.

At times like these, she wished that she had her father’s faith. Accepting that her guiding star, her hero, was fading right before her eyes was almost more than she could bear. There was absolutely nothing that she could do about it, which made her feel utterly helpless. For the first time in a long time, she was adrift, a ship without her rudder.

As her father’s life ebbed away, little did Jennie know that a spring tide of secrets was about to come crashing in on her. There would be no stopping the forces set in motion by a father who had been filled with anger and lost in grief so very long ago. The tide was about to turn, and what the surge carried with it would require Jennie to batten down the hatches for a rough ride.

After the priest and Caitriona left the hospital room, Jennie’s façade of calm began to falter, and anguish started its slow creep into her being. Trying to counteract her fear and dread of what came next, she retreated to memories of happier times.

People had often described Jennie’s father, Shaun O’Malley, as being larger than life, and her memories of him supported that description. With each memory washing over her as clear as a crisp autumn morning, her mind began to seek refuge every time she heard a pause in her father’s breathing.

As Jennie sat in an uncomfortable chair and watched her father struggle to hold on to life, she pondered the paradox of her thoughts. Memories were flowing through her mind’s eye rapidly now, and she wondered how one of her fondest memories of her father could also be one of the saddest. She could clearly see herself waiting for her father to come through the door after work so that the flying game could begin. As she ran toward him with her arms outstretched, he’d crouch down, ready for the catch and liftoff.

But when she turned eight, Jennie had decided that she was getting too old for the game. Her father had laughed it off, but she still remembered the hurt in his eyes at her rejection. Thinking back, she knew that she could have handled it better. But truth be told, not much had changed since then, for she was still that little girl in many ways. Her father had always been so healthy and vibrant, the polar opposite of who she was now. Oh, how he could make her laugh!

Despite Jennie’s efforts to hide in her memories, there was no escaping the fact that her father now was dying. That realization set in like a punch to the gut and undermined her confidence when her father’s breathing became erratic. Caitriona had been gone only twenty minutes, and already Jennie began to feel defeat breathing down her neck. Struggling to breathe and grappling with despair, she muttered, I can’t do this. How can anyone be expected to do this?

She desperately needed to regain her emotional footing, but doubt kept assaulting her. What was she going to do now? How could she keep going without him? Her father’s ability to keep Jennie focused on what mattered in life had been uncanny. No one could ever take his place, she muttered. No one.

Jennie steadied herself momentarily, only to turn around and undo her progress with a heap of Irish guilt. Her mind was wandering. He’s dying, and I’m worried about me? What a selfish girl I am! That lament continued to play in her head until her palms began to sweat and her heart started beating erratically.

Jennie’s lifelong emotional battle with who she was and who she endeavored to be had her instinctively holding her breath to squelch her growing anxiety. She needed to regain control and stop her anxiety from running amok. Quietly she began to chant, Breathe, Jennie. Just breathe in and out, in and out. Mindful breathing was one of her ways of coaxing herself down from the precipice of despair. She’d begun that practice after the collapse of her marriage—and her with it—at the ripe old age of twenty-seven.

After breathing in and out deeply several times, she felt the tension in her body begin to relax, but only one part of her struggle was assuaged. Disgusted at her weakness, she snapped out of the downward spiral. Get a grip, Jennie! she told herself firmly as she refocused her thoughts on her father. She refused to stay down for the count. Her father would expect her to get back up and fight, so fight she did.

Jennie’s father had been a master at dealing with the unknown and unexpected, and he had embraced it wholeheartedly. Jennie lacked that particular trait, but when push came to shove, she could force herself to do it. It always made her feel like a fraud, but she had to move forward in life, and her father couldn’t help her now. She was on her own.

One of Jennie’s most deeply rooted fears was about to become reality: she would be an orphan. Although an adult, she would be alone in life, without a family, abandoned.

Then out of nowhere, her father’s voice drowned out the clanging noise of fear. His words teased her out of the mood that held her captive, which had always made her chuckle. Must be an Irish thing, she mused, and like a gift from above, kind and beautiful memories calmed her heart. Thought by thought, memory by memory, she regained stable emotional footing, and her angst dissipated.

Finally mustering up courage, she pushed herself out of that ungodly chair and moved to her father’s bedside. As he lay in that sterile hospital bed, surrounded by beeping monitors and blinking lights, Jennie slowly lowered her head and kissed him on the cheek one last time.

Taking his hand in hers, she leaned over and whispered in his ear, People say that imitation is the highest form of flattery. I hope you know, Da, that I would give anything to be more like you. But don’t worry, because I’ll be okay. How could I not? I had the best father a girl could ask for.

Jennie’s childlike view of her father saw only the good in the man, and comparing herself to him didn’t help her one bit. She envied his ability to handle anything and believed that nothing could unnerve him. As for her own abilities, she decided that was a story best left for another day.

As the clock continued to tick slowly, Jennie’s mind journeyed back through time once again. She visualized her father sitting in his favorite chair in the den, and that eased her pain. She felt his arms wrapped around her, which restored her sense of well-being.

Everything from comfort to celebration had happened in that chair. Sometimes his generous heart had commiserated with Jennie, and sometimes he had rejoiced in her luck by breaking out in good old Irish tunes. As these memories washed over her, she smiled. Remembering the twinkle in her father’s eye and his quick laughter reminded her of his playful nature.

When he flashed those pearly whites, you knew there was no escaping his publican wisdom. He was about to take you on a journey with one of his stories. Ah, life is an abundantly messy journey, lass, he’d say. Indeed, it’s hard work for sure, but think how grand it’ll be when you see the work your hands produce. Roll up your sleeves and dig in, luv, for that’s when the magic begins! That’s when anything can happen. Aye, look at me, a poor lad who started with nothing but a willingness to wash a dish. Now I’m a successful publican with my own fine establishment, and I feel a king!

There was nothing quicker than her father’s humor, which would cut through Jennie’s black moods. The man could make a story come alive like no one else she knew. As he would talk, the image of him as a young lad, rolling up his sleeves and singing while doing the dishes, would fill her head. Yes, that was the hardworking man Jennie knew growing up. That was her father, Shaun O’Malley.

Her father had been a self-made man, a true immigrant success story. She thought about Haven Inn and the adjoining pub, O’Malley’s. They had been his lifelong passion—besides her, that is—and some would say his second home. Picturing him like that comforted Jennie, but it was a struggle to stay in that safe place.

Nagging questions and self-doubt reasserted themselves into her peaceful stroll down memory lane. This emotional tug-of-war has to stop! Jennie told herself, but the assault continued. Troubling questions persisted, and simply wanting to be free wasn’t going to cut it. Her peace had been breached, and she needed a strategy to deal with it.

There was no getting around her problems. Jennie knew that she had to make