Chapter Thirty-One
Three weeks later, I wore a modest dress of ivory silk, the Sidwell family emerald hanging on a gold chain just above the neckline of the gown. My fingers kept stealing up of their own accord to stroke it.
The wedding we had, in the end, was nothing like the wedding I had imagined for myself from inside Goldengrove. We married in the church, stuffy and enclosed, each pew draped with starry yellow bursts of early-forced winter jasmine. My mother had insisted on them. She had insisted also on the Alençon lace veil, the extensive guest list, the church itself, and the carriage drawn by a pair of matched white stallions that waited outside. Hers was the exact menu of the wedding breakfast, down to the choice of dark spiced fruitcake when she knew I preferred lemon. We spoke about few of these decisions; we spoke very little all told. We did not know how anymore.
But the one thing that mattered had not been her decision. All that mattered was the groom, and there, the choice was mine alone.
Henry waited for me at the front of the church, and I could barely restrain myself to step forward in time with the music, a far slower march than I would have chosen. I saw Phoebe’s head pop up in the front pew, turned and grinning, and I strode toward both of them with joy in my heart.
As the pastor read the words of Henry’s vows and he repeated them soberly, a host of faces looked on. My gaze grazed over the heads of the Sidwells, but then in the back of the church, I noticed a movement and couldn’t help but look back to see who it was. A woman in a broad-brimmed hat, crowned with a waxy magnolia that might or might not have been real, craned her neck from behind the back row. Even as I spotted her, she was already turning to go. I thought, though, that her posture reminded me a great deal of Martha’s. Perhaps she had not yet left for the North. It would be fitting to have her witness my wedding day; I would not be here without her. The same was true of Nora, who I often wondered about, along with her doctor. I supposed I would see them soon enough.
Then it was my turn to say my vows, and I felt I was speaking first too softly and then too loudly, but all that mattered was that I was saying the words to the right person. And then it was done. We were married.
After the ceremony, my father shook Henry’s hand gladly, and my mother seemed to manage a mostly sincere congratulations. In a way, she’d gotten exactly what she wanted: our family’s fate entwined with that of a better family. But if I knew her, she’d be haunted by how fragile it was, how dependent on no one knowing the awful truth of what George had done. Our star was yoked to theirs, and she would lose sleep over whether it continued to burn brightly. Her smile was sunny, her manner assured, but I thought I caught a shadow of fear in her eyes. How awful, to get what you thought would make you happy and find out it wasn’t enough after all. Perhaps in time, she would find another way to be satisfied. I would help her, if she asked me to. I didn’t think it likely.
But it was time to bid farewell to my parents and indeed all our guests. I smiled at my new husband, and together, we descended the steps from the church into the street. My future—our future—had begun.
* * *
The week after that, I walked into Goldengrove, my new husband holding my hand on my right side and my beloved sister holding my hand on the left. I felt a nervous shiver when the building loomed up in the distance before our carriage. Those curved lines above the entryway, those familiar bricks. Inside, I had felt pain and loneliness. I had seen bad things done to good women. More than anything else, I had seen an upside-down world that mislabeled and undervalued the women in it. It had claimed to be a place of healing, but instead, it had been a convenient holding place for inconvenient women, serving only the people outside it, never the ones within.
I brushed the feeling away and breathed in the fresh air. We would hire new doctors, ones who believed what we believed. The piano in the dayroom would make music again. We would refuse patients whose families sent them to us for convenience and not for cure. I would take Phoebe’s list of names and walk with her through the asylum so she could tell those women from her own lips that they were free to go. We could find a way to help them on their feet, to make new lives, as Martha was doing, as I hoped Celia would. There was not just one world outside. There were many, and we could help make new ones.
Squeezing first Phoebe’s hand and then Henry’s, I reminded myself that this time, although it was the same place, it would also be different. Instead of the punishing, upside-down world I had seen there, I imagined the warm and powerful world that Goldengrove could become. Its halls would be alive with song, with rainbows of paint, with a chorus of women’s voices reading and singing and laughing together. Our goal wouldn’t be to make money—the Sidwells had other businesses for that, other interests, to which we would turn our attention in time—but to make this world new. For every woman who passed through its long halls, including my sister. Including me.
This time, we went in through the front door.
Author’s Note
Readers wondering whether the Goldengrove Progressive Home for the Curable Insane was a real place will be happy to know no such institution by that name existed, in 1888 or otherwise. I made it up. Unfortunately, every treatment I’ve referenced here was practiced around this time period, and the reasons given for committing women to public or private asylums—everything from depression and epilepsy to extramarital affairs and disobedience—were real. Solitary confinement as a punishment was certainly used, though the name “Darkness” is my own invention. The most infamous practitioner of removing teeth (and not just teeth) for insanity, Dr. Henry Cotton, was not active until 1907, but others had hypothesized the link between dental health and mental health well before he came along. What I have left out is in most cases much more horrifying than what I’ve put in.
State asylums in particular were known for harsh treatment of their inmates. Nellie Bly really did go undercover in Blackwell’s Island in 1887 for the New York World, and Charlotte’s references to her account throughout are all drawn directly from the text of “Ten Days in a Mad-House” (with some paraphrasing for clarity’s sake). Readers interested in the true prevailing conditions in asylums of the nineteenth century should start with Bly’s account. Life in the Victorian Asylum by Mark Stevens provides a more in-depth perspective on the era’s British mental institutions.
I’ve drawn liberally from San Francisco and Napa Valley history to populate the pages of this book, though most of the main characters are not based on historical figures. Names like Stanford and Crocker would have been well known at the time, but both the Sidwells and Smiths of Nob Hill are fiction. The vineyard where inmates perform the night harvest is loosely based on the Beringer estate, including the Rhine House, which was built in 1884. Resources of the San Francisco Maritime National Historical Park were essential to my understanding of what the waterfront might have looked like at that time; Superior Wharf is an amalgam.
On a lighter note, sometimes inspiration comes from unlikely places. My decision to write a book set in a women’s asylum was partly inspired by Nellie Bly, of course, but also a far more incongruous source: Elvis Costello’s 1978 song “(I Don’t Want to Go to) Chelsea.” Avid Costello fans will recognize the origin of the names Gus, Alfie, and Natasha.
Also vital to my research was the book Women of the Asylum: Voices from Behind the Walls, 1840–1945, by Jeffrey Geller and Maxine Harris. There, I read accounts of asylum inmates of the period in their own words, including those of author (and postpartum psychosis sufferer) Charlotte Perkins Gilman, in whose honor I named my Charlotte.
Mistakes are my own.
Reading Group Guide
1.How does Charlotte feel when she wakes and realizes that her sister has been taken to Goldengrove Asylum? If you had a loved one who was taken away like this, how would you feel? What would you do when you heard the news?
2.What do you think of Charlotte’s plan? If you were in her shoes, would you feign insanity to enter Goldengrove as well? What other ac
tions could she have taken?
3.Describe Charlotte and Henry’s relationship. How does she view him? How does it evolve over the course of the story? What is standing in their way?
4.What do you make of some of Goldengrove’s “treatments”? Which one do you think would be the most difficult to handle?
5.Compare and contrast Phoebe and Charlotte. How are they similar? Different? What is their relationship like? Do you think you’re more like Charlotte or Phoebe?
6.What do you make of Charlotte and Phoebe’s mother? What is her biggest fear? How does she let those fears impact her children?
7.At one point, Nora says, “It only takes two things to make a woman insane: the word of a man who stands to benefit and a doctor willing to sell his say-so.” What do you make of this? What does this say about the role of women at this time? Do you think this same idea still applies today?
8.Why do you think Nora agrees to be Dr. Concord’s mistress? What does she get out of the deal? What do you make of her choice at the end?
9.Woman 99 deals with many aspects of mental health. How are mental health and mental illness perceived by the characters in the novel? Does this differ from how they are perceived today? How does stigma affect our reaction to and treatment of mental health?
10.Describe some of the women at Goldengrove. Who is your favorite? How does Charlotte come to view them? How do they help her save Phoebe? What are some of the challenges they face?
11.What is Phoebe like when Charlotte finally finds her in the asylum? How has she changed? After the girls escape, why does Phoebe choose to return to Goldengrove?
12.What do you make of the matron and superintendent of Goldengrove? Do you see them as villains? How are their actions shaped by societal forces?
13.Why do you think Henry wants to reform Goldengrove? How can Charlotte help? Do you think there is still a need for reform in today’s mental health institutions? Can you give any examples?
A Conversation
with the Author
What inspired you to write Woman 99?
As always, a few sparks from different sources combined to form a kernel of inspiration. In the case of Woman 99, I was largely inspired by Nellie Bly, the intrepid reporter of the 1880s, and her groundbreaking firsthand investigative reporting for the New York World. She got herself committed to an insane asylum by acting (1) poor and (2) crazy in New York City, spending ten days in the notorious Blackwell’s Island Asylum. She did it to call attention to the terrible conditions there, and I considered writing specifically about her, but then I decided to explore a different spin: What if someone pretended insanity for different reasons? That’s how Charlotte Smith came to be. She gets herself committed in order to rescue her sister. It’s not a well-thought-out plan, of course, but fiction is so much more interesting when people don’t always make wise choices.
What research did you have to do to bring this time period, and Goldengrove, to life?
So much! Lots of reading of firsthand accounts of asylum life, which is not the cheeriest reading there is. But in order to create a fully realized world for the reader, I’m pulling everything from every source I can find to draw both the privileged and pampered world of the Smiths in San Francisco, followed by the much bleaker world inside the walls of the asylum. I made the decision early on to use a fictional asylum instead of a real one so I could design it and people it as I chose. But all the treatments mentioned, and all the reasons for committing women to institutions, I took from the historical record.
Throughout the story, there’s a recurring theme of characters silencing strong female voices. Do you think that is a prevalent theme in today’s world?
Ugh, I wish it were far less relevant than it is. In a sense, it’s even worse now, because we thought we’d come so far—women can vote, hold office, get jobs, earn money, pursue their own goals—and yet this age-old prejudice, this antique discrimination, is still very much with us. I wrote a much angrier book than I was originally intending, and it absolutely has to do with the current political environment.
Goldengrove is a chilling place. If you were one of the characters trapped there, what aspect would you find the most terrifying?
I plunged Charlotte immediately into my personal nightmare, actually. When I first read about the benches, that terrified me. Being forced to sit still for hours on end, your body aching, your mind racing, unable to talk or turn or eat or. . . I mean, like I said: personal nightmare. And being drugged without knowing it, which she’s also dealing with shortly after her arrival at Goldengrove, that idea also terrifies me. I have an extremely vivid imagination, which is great as a writer, but it also has a very dark side, which I gave to Charlotte to explore.
Which character did you enjoy writing the most?
Martha was a lot of fun. Nora, too, but especially Martha, because she just breaks through all the BS. There’s great joy in writing the kind of character who says the thing everyone else is thinking. She wasn’t in my initial outline, but once I came up with the idea of her, I felt like she kind of took over. Which I’m very happy about.
Which character posed the greatest challenge?
In very different ways, both Celia and Mrs. Smith, Charlotte and Phoebe’s mother, were challenging to write. The knot I was working through with Celia was mostly logistical: How aware is she? How much can she say? What will she do given the choice to confront the person who tried to kill her? With Mrs. Smith, it was much more emotional. She’s not a villain, she’s not evil, but she makes some very questionable decisions in the name of getting things she has always wanted and avoiding things she has always feared. She’s kind of similar to Arden’s mother in my first novel, The Magician’s Lie, in that I think modern mothers are horrified by the choices she makes, but most women of that time didn’t have the luxury of looking at things the same way modern mothers do.
What do you think happens to Charlotte and Phoebe after the story ends?
I hope they both find what they’re looking for. I think it’s possible. Over the course of the book, both of them really get a sense of how the world they’re living in doesn’t fit them, so they have to choose ways to pursue happiness. Phoebe may or may not decide the asylum is really where she belongs. Charlotte may or may not find Henry to be the life partner she dreamed. But they’re both taking action to be true to themselves and what they need. That’s the first step to a happy ending.
What other authors or books inspire you?
Margaret Atwood has always been a major inspiration—her creativity, her willingness to take risks, and, of course, the stellar quality of her prose. And these days, I’m finding a huge amount of inspiration in my fellow historical fiction writers, other women whose fiction is inspired by the badass women of the past. Fiction is such an amazing way to bring attention to important issues without clubbing people over the head with Learning Life Lessons. I could read a historical novel inspired by the actions of women from history every single day and not run out of worthwhile books to read for years on end.
What does your writing process look like?
Oh, it’s a mess. I start with an outline and synopsis to organize my thoughts, but once I start writing, it’s all kinds of messy. It doesn’t really start to look like a book until I’ve rewritten it twice. I draft almost exclusively on the computer, but when I’m doing a full review and edit, I absolutely have to have it in paper form. Then I go sit at a bar somewhere with a glass of wine and a red pen, and I work. So sometimes my writing process looks like a lot of fun! Maybe as I write more and more books, I’ll eventually get to a point where the book in my head is the book I write in a first draft, but I’ve been doing this a couple of decades now, and this may just be how I write. And as long as I get to a book that I’m proud of at the end, I can’t complain too much. The time it takes is the time it takes.
Acknowledgments
As always, considering the reputation of writers as isolated loners laboring in drafty garrets, I’m struck by ho
w many people it takes to put together and put out a book. I’m lucky to have an amazing team supporting and inspiring me every step of the way.
Huge thanks to my agent, Elisabeth Weed, and the rest of the team at The Book Group, not just for shepherding this book, but also for shaping my career as a writer so I get to keep doing this over and over. I’m equally lucky to have Jenny Meyer on foreign rights and Michelle Weiner of CAA on film and TV—thank you for all your efforts on getting this story out to the world!
Sourcebooks is an amazing home for my work, and the whole company’s commitment to connecting readers with books is both impressive and inspiring. Dominique Raccah sets the tone from the top, and I’m in awe of her hands-on approach and the company she built from scratch into North America’s largest woman-owned publisher. I couldn’t ask for a better editor than Shana Drehs, whose editorial insights help bring my work to a whole new level every time. Kaitlyn Kennedy took on the Sisyphean task of publicity, and I’m thankful for her persistence and strength in pushing that thankless and oh-so-crucial boulder.
I’m also endlessly thankful to the independent bookstores that have championed my books, welcomed me as a guest, and helped me connect in so many ways with their readers. There isn’t enough space here to mention them all, but I’m especially grateful to Pamela Klinger-Horn at Excelsior Bay Books in Excelsior, Minnesota; Emily Hall at Main Street Books in St. Charles, Missouri; Debbie Beamer at Mechanicsburg Mystery Bookshop in Mechanicsburg, Pennsylvania; Flossie McNabb at Union Ave Books in Knoxville, Tennessee; and the entire team at One More Page Books in Arlington, Virginia.
Signing on to read and respond to an early draft of another writer’s novel is a serious commitment, and I can’t thank my early readers enough. I’m grateful to Tracey Kelley, Shelley Nolden, and Therese Walsh for sharing thoughtful critiques that made this book far better than it otherwise would have been. I was also lucky to have the guidance and insights of a wise reader who happens to be my mother. Thanks, Mom. I’m similarly blessed to have a highly intelligent, observant, and thoughtful reader as my husband. Thank you, Jonathan, for making it all—both books and life—make sense.
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