Wednesday, August 3, 2022

Virtual Book Tour: Birthright by Jeanette Baker

Welcome to my stop on the virtual book tour for Birthright by Jeanette Baker. This book tour was organized by Pump Up Your Book. On my stop, I have an excerpt from the book as well as a great guest post from the author regarding 10 things you might not know about the book. Be sure to visit the other stops on the tour for more content. Enjoy!
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Title: Birthright
Author: Jeanette Baker
Publication Date: June 21st 2022
Print Length: 254 pages
Genre: Women's Fiction
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Two women on a course to confront the past, one to expose its secrets, the other to bury them.

Claire Williams travels halfway across the globe from Southern California to Ireland to find the mother who gave her up and the questions that need answering. Norah O’Connor is equally determined to avoid revisiting the most shameful time of her life and the devastating decisions she was forced to make.

Claire’s presence fifty years later is the engine for the confrontations to come when neighbors Norah has known forever recognize Claire’s resemblance to a younger sister. Norah must face the man who fathered both her daughters, and decide to either hold the secrets that continue to embitter her or release them for the shame that will surely mark her.

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PRAISE:
Jeanette Baker’s award winning novels have earned her a place in the paranormal genre beside giants such as Barbara Erskine and Kristin Hannah. Now she brings her unique writing style and compelling characters to the stage of contemporary Ireland, sharing a world as alluring as its secrets are opaque.” —Lauren Royal, New York Times and USA Bestselling Author.

"Gorgeously descriptive and unforgettably moving, Baker’s novel is a wondrous journey of the heart." —Candi Sary, author of Magdalena

“Birthright will find a welcome place in any library strong in stories of mother/daughter relationships, Irish culture, and the special conundrums faced by adult children who seek answers to the decisions their birth parents made.” —Diane Donovan, Sr. Reviewer, Midwest Book Review
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EXCERPT:
Chapter 1

Tralee, Co. Kerry, Ireland

Norah


Look at the time, half-eight, and not a child in the house washed. The expression was my late mother’s, voiced nearly every day in the house where I grew up, ten children tucked into two bedrooms with one bath upstairs.

We were never close, my mother and me, not for any particular reason I can remember, we just didn’t get on. It was Fiona and Kathleen she preferred and Jimmy, always Jimmy, her middle child, the ciotogach, the red-headed lefty of our family who wasn’t supposed to amount to much and ended up in America with more in the bank than all of us put together.

The funny thing is Jimmy loved Tralee, still does, more than Keith or Liam or Michael, certainly more than I ever did. I was desperate to immigrate and wouldn’t have come back, not after Boston, but some things can’t be planned and shouldn’t be remembered.

Never mind all that, my mother would say. Memories never emptied the sink or hung out the washing. All they’re good for is regret. She was right. I know now that she was a font of wisdom I didn’t appreciate. It was my dad I preferred, the jokester, the man’s man, always ready with a wink, a story and a pint. Even when he told me bees could be captured in a can without a lid because they never looked up and I tried it and nearly died from the experience, I blamed myself and never doubted him. Interesting how perspectives change after six decades.

Speaking of the washing, it’s a good day for it, breezy without a hint of rain. I’m moving slowly today, feeling unsettled, looking for an excuse to avoid housework. Fergus Murphy, the postman, on his way to the door, is as fine a reason as any to sit down for a pot of tea and a scone.

“Good morning, Mrs. Malone,” he calls out. “How is the day treating you so far?”

“It’s a bit early to weigh in on the day, Mr. Murphy. Have you time for a cup of tea. It’s just made and the scones are fresh.”

He scratches his head, checks to see that his few remaining wisps of hair are positioned over the shiny dome of his head, and winks. “Wasn’t I just thinking how I’d like one of Mrs. Malone’s scones?”

“Come in, then.” I hold the door for him. “Mind the step and sit down.” I pour two cups of tea, set out the butter, a fresh knife, spoons and the milk jug. “I hear that Bridget Walsh’s son came home for good this time. Did his marriage go bad?”

“Isn’t it an awful shame?” he replies. “They’re different about marriage in America, replacing husbands and wives the same as they do their automobiles.”

As far as I’m concerned people in Ireland aren’t any different when it comes to replacing a spouse, only we don’t bother to make it legal. We just up and move in with someone else. But I won’t get any information by speaking my mind. “It is a shame,” I agree. “Poor Billy Walsh. She’s a lovely girl, though, isn’t she?” I refill his cup. He finishes one scone and eyes mine. “Would you like another scone, Mr. Murphy?”

“If you don’t mind, Mrs. Malone. This is a particularly delicious batch.”

“As I was saying, Mr. Murphy, Sheila Walsh is a lovely girl. I can’t imagine why Billy would leave her.”

“I heard it isn’t Billy who did the leaving.”

“Did you?”

“Aye. Word has it she’s tired of Billy’s drinking, that and no work for more than two years. Those American girls have expectations.”

“As we all should, Mr. Murphy.”

He drains the last of his tea. Only a few crumbs remain of the scone. “A pint now and then can be tolerated if a man brings home his earnings.”

I nod. “True enough. Given the circumstances, I can’t be too sorry for Billy Walsh.”

“We mustn’t be too hard on him, Mrs. Malone. A second chance may be just what he needs.”

A second chance with a mother who would wash his clothes, cook his meals and pick up after him. What a pity we aren’t all so lucky. Another sentiment I’ll keep to myself. If I collect a shilling every time I bite my tongue to keep the words in, I’ll be living in an estate in Ballyard. Instead, I smile. The postman has taken enough of my time. “Have a wonderful day, Mr. Murphy. Watch out for the dog living second next door. His bark is worse than his bite, but you never know.”

“I’ll do that, Mrs. Malone.” He reaches into his bag and draws out an envelope. “I have a letter for you, all the way from America.”

“I’ll take it off your hands, thanks very much.” I stuff it into the pocket of my apron hoping he hasn’t noticed the trembling of my hands.

He tips his hat. “My pleasure, Mrs. Malone. Tell himself I said hello. I hope he’s helping you here at home now that he’s taken redundancy.”

“He is and I will. Mind the step.” It takes enormous effort to smile and wave and watch him pass the house. I shut the door tightly and pull out the envelope. I don’t recognize the writing? Would I know it if I saw it? Would someone write after fifty years? The return address says California. Funny, I can’t see him in California. He’ll always be Boston to me, that city of uncompromising divisions, Southie and the North End, Beacon Hill and Roxbury, segregated neighborhoods amid the bluest blood in America, which, if you think about it, isn’t really very blue at all. Yes, Boston is a fitting place for lace-curtain Irish with immigrating sons, like the O’Sullivan family.

I tear the side open and pulled out the single sheet of paper. I don’t bother with the body of the letter, my eyes finding and focusing on the closing, the signature. Relief and the smallest hint of disappointment weaken my knees and I sit down quickly. Of course, it isn’t him. What do I expect after all these years?

I turn my attention to the letter. Who on earth is Claire Williams and what does she want? The only people I know in America aren’t speaking to me. Minutes later I manage to find my way to the bathroom and lock the door. Fumbling with the toilet lid, I let it fall into place and sit down heavily. I know I’m breathing. I must be breathing, or else I’d be dead. Dear, almighty God! I’m 69 years old. How could this happen? Surely after five decades, I ought to be safe. Damn those nuns.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Jeanette Baker is the award-winning author of twenty paranormal, historical and contemporary novels, most of them set in the lush countryside of Southwest Ireland where she lives with her husband and writes during the “Seasons of Silence,” the autumn and winter months. Her ancestors, the O’Flahertys, hail from the counties of Kerry and Galway. She takes great pride in the prayer posted by the English over the ancient city gates, “From the wrath of the O’Flahertys, may the good Lord deliver us.”

Jeanette spent many years teaching 6th grade in a small school nestled under a canopy of Eucalyptus trees where the children consistently surprised her with their wisdom, their hopefulness and their enthusiasm for great stories. Currently, she enjoys the company of her own grown children and her precious grandchildren.

Jeanette graduated from the University of California at Irvine and holds a Master’s Degree in Education.

She is the Rita award-winning author of NELL.

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GUEST POST:
Ten things you might not know about Birthright
by Jeanette Baker


1) It took me four years to write Birthright, the longest ever for one of my books.

2) Despite taking the longest to write Birthright, it is also the shortest of the 20 books I’ve written.

3) This was the most difficult book to write because it is based on a true story and the characters, although I changed their names, are recognizable to those involved.

4) Even though the story is based on real events, I had no direction when it came to the characters’ thoughts, painful memories and regrets. These are my own creations.

5) Claire’s accident in Tralee never happened. I needed a reason for a change of heart for Father O’Sullivan and Norah Malone.

6) In Massachusetts, all original adoptee birth certificates were first sealed in 1974 but current Massachusetts law seals records only for adoptees born in the 33-year period from July 14, 1974 to Jan. 1, 2008, when a new law went into effect.

7) My husband was researching my family tree on Ancestry when he came upon a name that was very familiar to him. Upon further research, he made contact with a woman he knew nothing about but who was definitely his oldest sister’s child. She had been adopted ten months after she was born.

8) Always, the problem solver, my husband flew from California to Nashville to meet this young woman and was delighted to welcome her into the family. However, his sister, the woman’s birth mother, was not happy about the exposure of her secret. The complications were many with his family of nine siblings, and their children, particularly when, come to find out, this wasn’t the only child born out of wedlock to the oldest sister.

9) This was the point where I thought my book was finished. I wanted out of the entire, unbelievable, confusing series of events. Then, somehow, feelings changed, visits to and from Ireland were arranged and decency prevailed.

10) Father Patrick O’Sullivan is a completely fictional character.


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