I write about courageous journeys, whether they focus on plants or people. I’m now working on a novel that spans over 100 years. Six generations of women from a single family journey through the maze of life challenges and lessons, all strung together by the maternal thread of self-doubt and surrender, in No More Daughters.
Their story begins on a small tenant farm in rural Kansas in the 1900s and travels west, eventually to culminate in the opposing conditions of desert and oasis in Las Vegas where the lineage of women ends. Or does it? The 5th generation of the family has failed to produce any daughters and the legacy of self-sacrifice and gritty determination threatens to yield to the whims of fate. Is this the final bequest left from a century of struggles? The answer is held by the 6th generation granddaughters who determine the true heritage formed by their ancestors.
Watch for, No More Daughters to discover how the legacy of women lives on.
Excerpt from Part 1, No More Daughters:
1907 – Lillian
Time seemed to go on forever, undefined, like the distant horizon. The prairie and field fused together, and though the settlers altered the land they now farmed, this landscape was little affected by the toil and tears of those who merged their lives with it. Ruth was part of that blend.
“Ruth, I need your help in the kitchen. Brush yourself and come in here,” Lillian hollered from the kitchen porch. “You can’t waste your life looking for something that isn’t there.”
Ruth turned her head slightly, but didn’t take her eyes off the horizon. “Is it suppertime already? Do I have to come in right now, Ma?”
“You know this land is so flat, you’d see a snake crawling on the ground a hundred miles from here. No one’s on the road. No one’s going to be on the road.” Ruth heard exasperation building in her mother’s voice. “Now get up and come inside and stop making a fool of yourself. He’s not coming!” Without waiting for Ruth to move, Lillian went back inside the house. She let the screen door bang loud behind her.
The sky was clear, though not yet hot. The cold plain’s winter had passed, as had the wet and windy spring. Summer was still a day away, but already the meadow was lush with wildflowers. The beginning of summer wasn’t what Ruth longed for. The morning would bring her birthday. It was the day she waited for every year, even more than Christmas. Ruth’s anticipation and vigilance were high because she believed tomorrow her father would return. She was certain he’d come this year for sure.