Venice, 1710
Poinsettia Girl is based on the story of Agata de la Pieta, an orphan musician of the Ospedale de la Pieta.
Ten-year-old Agata's world is shaken at the sudden death of her mother. Left only with her egregious father, a working musician in Venice, her ailing grandmother sends her to the well-known orphanage, hidden from everything she's ever known.
Agata auditions for the conservatory style music school where music is both salvation and spectacle. Hidden behind ornate metal grates, adorned with poinsettias in their hair, the singers are veiled in mystery, their ethereal music drawing noble audiences, including gilded young men who see them as treasures-not only for their sound but as coveted marriage prizes.
Just as she reaches the height of her musical journey, a marriage proposal from someone outside the audience tempts her with the promise of a new life-a return to the old neighborhood she's longed for and a home she barely remembers.
Torn between the music that has defined her and the hope of belonging to a family, Agata must confront the most profound question of her life: is her purpose rooted in the music that shaped her, or in the love that might free her?
Some might have considered her earlier days slightly more illustrious than her current stage. She had once been a contralto, something special and different for composers to write for and crowds to be awed by. She pictured herself standing at the front of the balcony behind the metal cutout, remembering what it felt like to be seen. She ran her hands over her hips, feeling the smoothness of the deep red skirt over her narrow hips, and then moved them up to touch the heavy drape of her lace collar, forcing her shoulders back.
Her thick raven hair was brushed back in a woven bun, and the poinsettia behind her ear was striking in contrast. And now, she was a spry (well, she thought so) sixty-two-year-old, young enough that her widened hips still moved nimbly, and old enough that when her gray hair was unwound from its head covering, she could find not one of her former black strands left. She was known as the old woman in the hall, called by the name Discrete, which meant separate. That little skip flipped in her heart like it did occasionally, and she moved her hand from her gray hair to her chest.
I just push myself on some days. I can take it easier tomorrow.
Thank you so much for hosting Jennifer Wizbowski today, with an intriguing excerpt from her evocative new novel, Poinsettia Girl.
ReplyDeleteTake care,
Cathie xx
The Coffee Pot Book Club