Introduction

Pearl and Ginevra grow up in the era known as the Gilded Age in Newport, Rhode Island. One lives above the stairs, the other below.

Surrounded by Astors and Vanderbilts, Pearl fills her days with teatime and shallow friendships, yearning for something more. A chance meeting with Mary Cassatt sparks her secret desire to be an artist. Meanwhile Ginevra, fresh off the boat from Italy, finds her own dreams out of reach as she joins the unwelcoming household as a servant and seamstress.

Kindred souls, the girls become fast friends but must keep their friendship hidden from Pearl’s controlling mother. Every summer, they meet in a hidden spot beneath the weeping beeches to talk of art and life, and their struggles to break the barriers of their lives.

Soon, the two young women must decide who they want to be in this world, and survive what it takes to get there…even if it includes murder.

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Excerpt

In that split second when the gunpowder bursts. . . the next second when the gun at the end of my hand blasts the room with light, jerking my arm back. . . in that time out of time, I cannot say whom I truly aim for.

GINEVRA

1899

The air reeks of gunpowder . . .and blood, fresh blood.

I push the limp body off me; someone’s sobs, mine no doubt, I hear as if from far away. Dropping my skirts, my eyes skirt the room, to the body on the floor, to her standing in the doorway. I’ve never seen her so pale, so. . . blighted. I see the gun on the floor. Tendrils of smoke snake upwards from the barrel as if beckoned by the notes of a magic flute.

I hear the voices, the footsteps. They’re coming. I hear my heart in my ears; fell the snuffs of air from my nose.

What I do, I do without thought.

It takes me only a few steps to snatch the gun from the floor and cross the room to her side.

“What?”

Fear-glazed eyes find me.

I reach up and tuck a stray strand of her gleaming raven hair back into her perfectly coiffed Gibson Girl.

“Go.”

“What?” she asks again, this time her luminescent brow furrows, growing awareness in the moment returns, a spark of denial simmers.

“You must get out of here, Pearl.” I take her hand, one I remember having held more than any other in my life. “You have far more to lose, too much to lose.”

I shake my head; tangles of thoughts rattle. The words accusing me, the voices that will say I somehow brought this on myself, part of me believes. That part knows I cannot let her take any blame, for this, for him.

I lie to her for the first time in all our years together.

“They will believe me. They’ll believe I could do such a thing, why I could do such a thing. Look there is blood on my clothes, but none on yours.”

Her gaze flits over my dark uniform, then her bright silk gown.

I look at her face, I flash to the memory of her first face, the young one, one so like mine.

“My papa is nothing in this world, and yours is devoted to him. Mine cannot be hurt by this. Your famiglia . . . it will disgrace them forever.”

“No. No, I must tell them,” Pearl shakes her head; there is little focus in eyes that try to focus everywhere. “I came to protect you. It’s my fault. If I had believed you, trusted you, he wouldn’t—” she babbles. I understand it all.

Now both of our almost black eyes drop to the floor, to the body slumped upon it, to the growing puddle of blood around it, to the face so dashing even in death.

“They’ll execute you,” she whispers.

I grab her by the shoulders and shake her. “You did protect me. You came. You gave me time to. . . ” I shudder, the words I must say—fleeting through the sliver of mind still capable to think—feel as if they are a rag shoved down my throat and I gag on them. “. . . we didn’t have time to finish.” My gaze grabs her harder than my hands. “He always wanted me more, you know that don’t you—”

Pearl shakes her head, covers her ears with trembling hands.

“He desired me.” I slap her with a thin thread of truth. It is enough.

The slap of her hand spins my head; the sting of it stays long after her hand retreats.

I clench my eyes tightly.

“He always desired me more than you.”

This time it is no slap. Curled fingers and knuckles meet my face.

All that I had done to her feeds the strength of her arm.

I stammer back from the blow. My shoulder collides with the wall. The corner of the table digs deep into my buttock. I drop to the floor.

Pearl is blurry through my teary eyes. I can feel the sadness in the wane smile I force upon my face.

Hers creases like crumpled paper.

“My bruises,” I totter back upon my feet, “these bruises will tell their own tale.”

The shutters flap open; Pearl gasps.

“You made me. . . ” She wants to speak of it. There is no time.

The voices from above grow louder, the stomping upon the stairs insistent.

“You came in time, it is all that matters.” I pull her to me; hold her close. “Now we must act in time.”

With a graceful movement, grace acquired from the dance lessons she herself had given me, I twirl our bodies round, open the door, and push her out.

“Ginevra—!”

I shut the door on her face. I turn to the man, the dead man who had ruined our lives, lives that had been better, truer, and richer, for the existence of the other, and await my fate. view abbreviated excerpt only...

Discussion Questions

What was it about Pearl's life that made her want to be a 'new woman?' Is there more than one influence motivating her?

There are many 'ranks' of people discussed in Gilded Summers; what are they and which are the most surprising?

Ginevra's relationship with her father is not typical nor is it satisfying for her. How is it atypical and what could be the reasons for it?

Pearl reached out to befriend Ginevra from the moment Ginevra arrived at Pearl's home. What were the reasons why she did so and which were the most genuine?

The relationship between Pearl and Ginevra changes as they grow into full womanhood. Why did it change from both of their perspectives?

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