A Deadly Affection (47 page)

1.
A Deadly Affection
takes place during the Progressive Era, a relatively obscure period bookended by the Gilded Age and World War I. Were you familiar with this time period before you read the book? How would you describe it now? Is 1907 New York a place you'd like to visit?

2. Genevieve has been carrying a burden of guilt over her brother's death since she was twelve years old. How has this guilt shaped her life? How does it continue to influence her decisions over the course of the novel? Have you experienced similar feelings of guilt in your own life?

3. Although Genevieve is able to find a male classmate “open to progressive ideas” to help her plumb the mysteries of sexual intercourse, most of her peers would have considered a woman's participation in premarital sex shocking and shameful. How have things changed? Does sexual activity before marriage still carry more stigma for women than for men?

4. Considering Genevieve's past with Simon, do you think she is right to distrust him? Did you worry that Simon might be working against her, to exact revenge?

5. Mrs. Summerford has withdrawn from life since her son's death. Do you think she has been a negligent mother to Genevieve by retiring into her own grief? Do you believe she had a choice?

6. What is Katie's role in the family? How has Mrs. Summerford's emotional absence affected her relationship with Genevieve?

7. Genevieve has been raised to respect authority in all its guises: her father, her professors, the police—even the rational, scientific mind. As the story unfolds, how do each of these trusted authorities fail her? How do these failures, in turn, make her grow stronger?

8. According to Professor Mayhew, the female brain is “rather too small for great intellect, but just large enough for conceit.” How do you think you would have reacted to statements like these as a woman in Genevieve's time? Do you believe more subtle prejudice against women's capabilities continues to exist today?

9. Genevieve reacts dramatically to the sight of policemen at the ball chasing the young street beggar. Is it simply a sense of injustice that causes her to jump out of the car to help the boy, or do you think her motives might be more complicated?

10. What do you think it is that attracts Genevieve to Simon? And vice versa?

11. Mr. Summerford believes Genevieve's life will be ruined if she pursues a relationship with a poor immigrant Irishman. Given the class distinctions at the time, is there basis for his concern? Do you believe it might be possible for Genevieve and Simon to find happiness in the future, despite their differences?

12. Lucille Fiske is an ambitious woman in a time when there are few outlets for female ambition. Why do you think Olivia's marriage to the Earl matters so much to her? Is it really because, as Louisa says, a title is “the only thing they haven't got”?

13. Mr. Summerford has had a major influence on Genevieve's confidence and self-regard. How does the relationship between the two change by the end of the novel? Do you believe Genevieve will be able to live life on her own terms in the future?

14. In light of the fact that there is no cure for Huntington's chorea, do you think Genevieve does the right thing in telling Olivia that she has the disease? Would you want to know, if you were in Olivia's shoes?

15. After discovering that Mrs. Braun is the murderer, Genevieve concludes: “I knew that in her twisted mind, she'd believed she had no choice. With no one to turn to and nowhere to go for help, she'd taken the only path she thought open to her. Her desperate actions had left a trail of innocent victims in their wake; but I supposed that she too had been a victim in a way.” Do you agree that Mrs. Braun is a victim? What actions besides murder could she have taken to protect her daughter and herself, without sacrificing their livelihood?

16. Genevieve takes a number of risks in her attempt to prove Eliza is innocent, including breaking into a crime scene, walking the streets alone at midnight, and earning Lucille Fiske's enmity. What do you think motivates her? Do you consider her brave or foolhardy?

17. Although the reality of alternating personalities, or what today would be called dissociative identity disorder, has been debated for more than a hundred years, the illness continues to be included in psychiatric diagnostic manuals. Did you start the book believing that people could have multiple personalities? After reading about Elizabeth's experience, are you more inclined to believe that such a coping mechanism could exist?

18. A historical novelist must walk a thin line between supplying too little and too much historical detail. How well did the author walk the line in this case? Were there things you were curious to learn more about? How seamlessly were the historical details integrated into the story?

Read on for an excerpt from the next book in the Dr. Genevieve Summerford mystery series

Prologue

On the last day of life as she knew it, Teresa Casoria stood at the rail of the steamship
Madonna
and watched the sun rise over America.

They had dropped anchor in the middle of the night, too late to see anything but twinkling lights to the east and west. Unable to sleep, she'd packed her one valise and brought it up to the deck at the crack of dawn. She watched the pink light of morning move like a magician's hand over the entrance to New York Harbor, revealing tidy houses and colorful gardens and an old stone fortress along the shoreline.

Other passenger ships were anchored nearby in the quarantine grounds, also awaiting inspection. Although their upper decks were nearly empty, she could see clusters of steerage passengers pressing against the lower rails, as eager as she was to see their new home. She felt a twinge of regret, wishing, not for the first time, that she had traveled in steerage herself. Her second-class shipmates seemed to have known that she wasn't really one of them—never treating her rudely exactly, but simply looking right through her, as if she wasn't even there. In steerage she needn't have worried about having only two dresses, or which fork to use, or whether to give the steward money for bringing her a deck rug. She might have made some friends to share her hopes and fears with, and perhaps even tried using her English.

But these were ungrateful thoughts, and she banished them from her mind. It had been extremely kind of Antonio to send her a second-class ticket. True, she'd thought him extravagant when she first received it, believing they should use the money for other, more important things after they were married—but when she saw the steerage passengers leaving the disinfection station in Naples with their heads shorn and their bags soggy from fumigation, she was thankful for his consideration. Now, with the dreaded Ellis Island immigration station looming up ahead, she was doubly thankful, for according to the Italian waitress in the single ladies' lounge, anyone rich enough to afford a first- or second-class ticket was presumed to be of sound mind, body, and character and, therefore, subjected to only the most cursory examination on board.

Even knowing this, she felt a stab of anxiety when she saw the cutter with the yellow flag bouncing toward the
Madonna
over the choppy water. If they sent her back now, away from Antonio, what would she have to live for? She groped for the cross that hung from her neck, forcing herself to stand up straight. She wouldn't give into fear now. If she'd listened to fear, she would have married doting but simple-minded Domenico. She would have accepted that her poor quarter of Naples was the only world she'd ever know, and that dreams were for other, more important people. Instead, she had found real love, and she was in America, and everything she'd dared to dream was about to come true.

To her relief, the onboard inspection was as cursory as the waitress had predicted, and within thirty minutes, the passengers were released to prepare for deboarding. Teresa returned to the rail as the ship steamed into the upper bay, watching with her heart in her mouth as the fabled lady of liberty rose up on the horizon, lifting her torch toward Teresa in welcome as if she'd been waiting only for her. Just as she was thinking she'd never seen anything more beautiful, the ship turned on its course and New York City came into view, shimmering like a mirage in the distance. She gripped the rail and drank the sight in, determined to fix it in her mind forever.

As they steamed closer, the solid city facade broke into separate, pastel-colored skyscrapers standing shoulder to shoulder along the shore. Light glinted off the buildings' windows and flashed on their copper turrets, giving the scene an otherworldly glow. She found herself blinking back tears, overcome with sudden gratitude for the events that had led her to this moment. She didn't know what she had done to deserve such good fortune, but she promised God then and there that she'd do everything in her power to be worthy of it.

A whistle blast broke into her thoughts, making her jump. Looking down, she saw a tiny tugboat darting straight across the bow of the enormous
Madonna
. A laugh of delight escaped her. Truly I am in America, she thought, where the small and the humble bow to no one.

A few minutes later, they were moving up a river along the west side of the island, and she was looking into the beating heart of the city.
My
city now, she thought, her own heart beating faster in response. From every pier came the whir of hoists and the roar of donkey engines and the shouts of brawny longshoremen at work. Peering between the giant steamers and sailing ships that filled the slips, she saw a stone-paved street teeming with tangled carriages and clanging streetcars and overloaded wagons. It was all so big and busy and noisy; it made her feel very small and insignificant in comparison.

At last the ship slowed and started turning toward an empty slip. A boisterous crowd was waiting at the end of the pier, waving hands and handkerchiefs and shouting up to the passengers. She searched for Antonio's face, but couldn't find it. He must be waiting inside the shed, she decided. Grabbing her valise, she hurried down to the lower deck—only to wait, quivering with nervous excitement, while the
Madonna
slowly warped in.

Finally, with tugs pushing, windlasses pulling, and deckhands shouting back and forth, the ship was secured and the gang plank was dropped into place. Teresa rode a wave of passengers into the crowded pier shed, pushing through hordes of railroad and livery and boardinghouse agents as she searched right and left for Antonio. An official waved her toward the customs desk, where she handed over her landing card and the letter Antonio had sent, stating his occupation and address and confirming that Teresa was to be his wife.

“Is your fiancé here?” the man behind the desk asked her in Italian.

She looked once more around the crowded shed. “I don't see him, but he is coming,” she answered in her best English, proud of how much she'd learned during her months working in Mrs. Hancock's kitchen.

Instructing her not to leave the shed until he arrived, he gave her back the letter and sent her on to the inspection table, where her bag was opened and sorted through. And then finally, after all the months of anxiety, it was over. She had made it, to America and Antonio.

But…where was her beloved? She continued to the door of the shed to look for him on the street outside, longing for the sight of his face and eager to see the look in his eyes when they fell on her. Still, he was nowhere to be seen. She stepped aside to let other passengers exit the shed, listening wistfully to their shouts of greeting, trying not to feel left behind as they disappeared into the waiting conveyances. The
Madonna
was supposed to have arrived the day before, she reminded herself, but had been delayed and forced to remain in quarantine overnight. Antonio may have had important business to attend to this morning that kept him from returning on time. No doubt he would come as soon as he could.

The sun was high in the sky, and the shed had grown uncomfortably warm. She loosened her shawl and plucked at her damp shirtwaist, trying not to let her shoulders slump so that Antonio's first glimpse of her would be a good one. Gradually, the stream of departing cabin-class passengers slowed to a trickle, and then stopped altogether. Next, the steerage passengers were herded through the shed onto barges bound for Ellis Island, manifest tags dangling from their chests. She watched them shuffle across the floor, their faces reflecting equal parts hope and terror, their arms overflowing with bundles and baskets and solemn-faced children. And then even they were gone.

As the last barge pulled away, her courage faltered, and her face grew hot with shame. She lowered her valise to the ground. Could he have forgotten? Or—God forbid—changed his mind? But no, that wasn't possible; Antonio loved her more than the stars and the moon. He had told her so, and she believed him. She could feel the customs official's gaze upon her, making perspiration bead along her forehead. How long would they let her wait here? If he didn't come soon, would they force her to go to the dreaded detention room on Ellis Island—the room where people could disappear for months, or even years—while they decided what to do with her? What if they took her there and Antonio couldn't find her? What if they sent her back home?

She pulled Antonio's letter from her pocket and peered at the return address. Maybe she could find her way to him. But…where was this 109th Street? She wished she had brought a map of the city with her. How could she have been so stupid, to come without a map? Hot tears sprang to her eyes. The fear was back, stronger and more insistent than ever. She fumbled for her handkerchief as the tears brimmed over.

And then, someone called her name. She lifted her head. Through the blur of her tears, she saw a man stepping out of a carriage at the end of the pier. He called to her again, opening his arms in greeting. Teresa's breath left her in a rush of relief. Shoving the handkerchief into her pocket, she scooped up her valise and, with a happy wave to the customs official, ran down the dock toward the carriage.