Deep Summer

Deep Summer

by Gwen Bristow


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Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781480485358
Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media LLC
Publication date: 05/20/2014
Series: Plantation Trilogy Series , #1
Pages: 424
Sales rank: 191,262
Product dimensions: 5.25(w) x 8.00(h) x 0.95(d)

About the Author

Gwen Bristow (1903–1980), the author of seven bestselling historical novels that bring to life momentous events in American history, such as the siege of Charleston during the American Revolution (Celia Garth) and the great California gold rush (Calico Palace), was born in South Carolina, where the Bristow family had settled in the seventeenth century. After graduating from Judson College in Alabama and attending the Columbia School of Journalism, Bristow worked as a reporter for New Orleans’ Times-Picayune from 1925 to 1934. Through her husband, screenwriter Bruce Manning, she developed an interest in longer forms of writing—novels and screenplays.

After Bristow moved to Hollywood, her literary career took off with the publication of Deep Summer, the first novel in a trilogy of Louisiana-set historical novels, which also includes The Handsome Road and This Side of Glory. Bristow continued to write about the American South and explored the settling of the American West in her bestselling novels Jubilee Trail, which was made into a film in 1954, and in her only work of nonfiction, Golden Dreams. Her novel Tomorrow Is Forever also became a film, starring Claudette Colbert, Orson Welles, and Natalie Wood, in 1946.

Read an Excerpt

Deep Summer

Plantation Trilogy, Book One

By Gwen Bristow


Copyright © 1965 Gwen Bristow
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4804-8515-0


The river was silky in the late sun. On shore the light pierced the live-oaks with golden spikes, and the wind in the long gray moss made a soft undertone to the shouts of the boatmen.

While the men tied up the flatboat Judith leaned over the side washing some kerchiefs and a pair of her father's nankeen breeches. It was hard to get clothes clean in the river. No matter how hard one scrubbed they had a yellowish tinge when they got dry. What a relief it would be to get done traveling and settle down again like civilized people, with a well of clear water and a big convenient fireplace for cooking. The men made the boat fast with ropes flung around a tree, and Judith's brother started a fire on the bank. Her father sent the boatmen to look for game.

The flatboat bounced on the current. Judith spread the breeches and kerchiefs on deck to dry and began making herself tidy for supper. She combed out her hair—it was tawny like the river, and like the river unruly—and when she had pinned up her braids she got out a fresh kerchief and knotted it around her shoulders. Her mother had already gone ashore with the tripod and was setting it up over the fire. Judith picked up the cooking-pots and followed.

The men had brought out the dried corn and beans and jerked venison. Judith mixed a pot of succotash. As she slung the pot over the tripod she heard a voice call from the river.

"Good evening, my fellow-travelers!"

Judith started and looked up. Another flatboat was approaching the bend, and as the strange boatmen pushed down the current the owner of the boat waved toward the bank. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a face ruddily tanned except where a scar cut a white line across his left cheek. His coat was of claret satin and there were silver buckles at his knees and on his shoes, and the sun glinting down his legs caught the shimmer of silk stockings. Judith stared. They had met other settlers on their way down the Mississippi, but never one who journeyed in such splendor as this.

"Good evening, sir," Judith's father called from the bank. He bowed with perfunctory courtesy, evidently having no great opinion of a man who would attack a wilderness in the jubilant audacity of satin.

The stranger grinned in return, unabashed. The sun caught red-gold lights in his hair, which was long and tied back with a black silk ribbon. "You are settling in Louisiana?" he called.


"Good. So am I. Permit me to present myself. Philip Larne, sir, at your service."

"My compliments, Mr. Larne. My name is Mark Sheramy. These are my wife, my son Caleb and my daughter Judith."

"My respects to you all. I trust we shall meet again."

Mark Sheramy bowed. Young Mr. Larne touched his forehead as if meaning to doff his hat, but since he wore none the gesture had the effect of a jaunty dismissal. His flatboat had reached the bend, where a canebrake jutted into the river. Mr. Larne turned to look at Judith and he smiled again. His eyes did not leave her till the canebrake was between them.

Judith felt a tremor run down her back. She glanced uneasily at her parents lest they had observed this impudent attention, but her father was piling sticks on the fire and her mother was busy cleaning the grouse the boatmen had brought in. Judith fetched a pot of water, wondering if Mr. Larne had looked at her like that because he thought she was pretty. She was fifteen, old enough to want to be pretty, but her father said she was too young to be concerned with adornment and as she had never seen a mirror larger than six inches by eight it was hard to form much opinion of her looks. She knew she had eyes that were brownish gold like her hair, and her complexion was all right except for being sunburned, but glancing down at her gray cotton gown and her plain kerchief she found it hard to believe that a gentleman in satin and silver could notice her with admiration. Judith looked disapprovingly at the nut-colored garments of Caleb and her father. They had seemed very tidy and proper back home in Connecticut. But at home all decent farmers dressed like that, except when they rode to meeting, or to market on holidays. She wondered where Mr. Larne came from.

"Mother," she said suddenly.

Mrs. Sheramy looked up from the grouse. "Yes, child?"

"That Mr. Larne," said Judith. "He—he's traveling all by himself, and maybe he spoke to us because he was lonesome. He's tied up his boat just the other side of the canebrake. Don't you think it might be nice if we asked him to have supper with us?"

"Why—yes," said Mrs. Sheramy after an instant's hesitation. She turned to her husband. "What do you think, Mark?"

Mark leaned on his gun.

"I hardly know," he returned slowly. "He doesn't look like very good company to me."

"Why, father!" cried Judith. "He looks like a lord!"

Mark smiled slightly. "More like a good-for-nothing dandy. I've seen his kind. Cluttering up the colonies and making trouble for thrifty folk trying to establish homesteads and live in fear of the Lord."

Judith jabbed a spoon into the succotash. "It's positively unchristian of you to think hard of a gentleman just because he's all dressed up."

"Judith!" said her father.

"I'm sorry, sir." She bit her lip. But she was gladly surprised to hear her mother say:

"After all, Mark, if the poor man has had nobody but those rough boatmen to cook for him all the way down the river he must be starved for a woman's hand about his food. Why shouldn't we ask him to supper?"

Mark shrugged. "Very well. Go ask him over, Judith."

"Yes sir." Judith hurried to push a path through the canes. The sun was slanting rapidly, but the stalks had a faint sparkle as she shoved them away. On the other side of the brake she stopped, quivery with sudden shyness. Philip Larne was sitting on the knotted root of a tree. His gun across his knees, he was watching the sky for game while his boatmen built a fire. Judith felt tongue-tied. He was not their sort; asking him to supper seemed a feat requiring intimacy with courts and ballrooms. She might have fled in silence if he had not at that moment caught sight of her and sprung to his feet, laying his gun against a tree.

"My charming semi-acquaintance!" he greeted her.

He came up and kissed her hand. Nobody had ever kissed her hand before. Judith curtseyed in a flutter of embarrassment.

"I—I beg your pardon, sir. But my mother—my mother sends her compliments, and wants to know if you'll have supper with us tonight."

Philip Larne's blue eyes swept her up and down, and though his answer was all grace his lips twitched with amusement.

"I am honored, ma'am."

"Then—then you'll come, Mr. Larne?" she asked tremulously, pushing back against the canes again.

He began to laugh. "Wait a minute," he exclaimed, taking her arm to make sure that she did so. "You are positively trembling, Miss Sheramy! Do you think I'm an Indian hankering for your scalp?"

"Of course not—but—" She hesitated, but he was so warmly friendly that before she knew it she was laughing too. "I'm not very used to strangers," she confessed.

"Then it's high time you got used to them," he retorted. "Aren't you moving into a brand-new country? Come sit down and talk to me."

Judith drew back. "But I thought you were coming with me!"

"I'd love to. But—" The late sunshine skittered over his claret shoulders as he turned to look toward the river, where his boat lay moored. It was larger than most flatboats—nearly sixty feet long—with a narrow deck and an enormous cabin that had all its tiny windows shut tight. He must have a quantity of household goods to need so much space for storing them, which was odd, for you hardly expected a man to acquire household goods before he had a household. And evidently he had no family on the flatboat. "I can't possibly leave my boat unguarded," he was saying to her.

"But your boatmen, sir!" Judith protested. "They have guns."

His blue eyes twinkled upon her. "They're loyal enough as long as I'm watching them. But I wouldn't trust any crew on the river with a costly cargo."

"A costly cargo?" she repeated. "Then you're a trader? Bringing down merchandise?"

He started slightly and his hand on her arm tightened. "What did you think I was bringing?"

"Why—plows and chairs and spinning-wheels, like us," she returned in surprise, but as he did not release her she felt a flash of irritation. "I never thought about it at all," she snapped. "And I'll thank you to quit holding me like a constable!"

"Forgive me. I didn't realize I was holding you." He smiled as he let her go. "I must confess I don't own a plow nor a chair, nor even a spinning-wheel. I have only—" he hesitated a fraction of a second, and ended—"merchandise."

Judith looked down, abashed at having spoken so rudely, though she wondered why he had answered evasively instead of saying flax or whiskey or whatever it was. He was speaking again with an enticing eagerness.

"I simply don't dare leave my boat. But I've been so lonely on this everlasting river—why don't you stay and have supper with me?" He caught her hands, drawing her toward the fire. "Yes, you must stay."

"But I can't!" She stopped halfway. "What on earth would I tell my father?"

"Tell him—" Philip chuckled. "Tell him I offered you cakes made with honey and rice-meal, and oranges soaked in syrup of cinnamon, and dried figs from the gullah coast—"

Judith found herself sitting on the knotted root of the tree. "The gullah coast—where in the world is that?"

"It's the lower edge of South Carolina."

"Is that where you came from?"

He nodded, stretching on the grass at her feet and raising himself on an elbow to ask:

"And you? New England?"

"Why yes. Connecticut. How did you know?"

Instead of answering, he said, "Did anybody ever tell you your eyes were the color of champagne?"

Judith felt herself blushing. "Certainly not. What is champagne?"

"It's a sparkly wine they make in France."

"Have you been to France?" she asked in astonishment.

"Yes. Don't they ever drink champagne in Connecticut?"

"I don't know. Not up our way, anyhow. You've never been to Connecticut?"

"Once, for a very little while. During the French and Indian War."

"Oh, you were in the war?" she exclaimed gratefully, glad he was a soldier of the king. Now maybe her father would think better of him, for Mark had also been in the war.

"Most assuredly," returned Philip, "under General Braddock and young Mr. Washington of Virginia." There was a trickle of laughter under his voice.

"Then you are coming down with a royal grant?" she asked, delighted to discover he was a responsible citizen and not as her father thought an elegant ne'er-do-well.

He laughed aloud. "Surely. Want to see it?"

From inside his frilled shirt he drew a great document with a seal, informing all who cared to know that His Majesty George the Third had bestowed upon his subject Philip Larne, as reward for his service in the colonial war against the French, three thousand acres on the east bank of the Mississippi River in the country of Louisiana, in the sub-province West Florida that had been ceded to England by the treaty that ended the war. Done by the king's emissaries in the town of Charleston in the colony of South Carolina January 12 in the year of grace 1772.

She gave the paper back, saying, "Yes, my father has one of these. Father waited till long after the war before asking for it. He didn't want to leave New England."

Philip sat up, wrapping his arms about his knees. "I wonder he left at all. He doesn't look like the footloose sort."

"He isn't. Not a bit. But our crops failed three times, and there was such bitter cold last year half our cows died. And everybody was talking about this new English settlement in Louisiana. Men who hadn't been in the war told father they envied him his chance to get free land here. And he got a letter from a young man who left our township five years ago with a royal grant—Mr. Walter Purcell. Mr. Purcell said Louisiana was such a fertile country that from its best land a man could get four crops a year."

"Do you think you're going to like it?" Philip asked smiling.

"I—guess so," she said doubtfully, looking around at the forest and the lazy river purpling in the twilight. "But it's so strange. Weird, don't you think, with the palms and the moss like curtains on the trees, and so flat. Maybe it doesn't seem so strange to you," she added shyly. "You're a traveled man. But I—well, I'd never been out of our township till we left for good last winter."

"And you thought the whole world looked like New England?" Philip asked gently.

"I don't rightly know what I thought. Only now I know better. I feel—"

"What?" he asked when she hesitated.

"Ever so much older than before I left. Didn't you feel that way when you went to France?"

Philip chuckled softly, and she started in surprise at herself, talking so confidentially to a stranger. But he had seemed so interested. Philip knelt in front of her, putting his hands on hers.

"You're the most delectable child I ever saw in my life. But you aren't really a child, are you?"

"I'm fifteen. Father always calls me a child."

"But you aren't, you know. You're a very beguiling young lady."

She caught her breath, and Philip asked,

"Didn't any other man ever tell you that?"

Judith looked down at his hands covering hers in her lap. It had abruptly grown so dark she could hardly see them.

"You're going to think I'm a dreadful yokel," she said. "But I've never been alone with a young gentleman before in my life."

"Heavens above," said Philip in a low voice.

"And I'm sure my father is coming to get me almost any minute," said Judith, "and I think I'd better go—"

There was a yelp from the forest.

It was short and horrible. Judith sprang up with a cry as Philip grabbed his gun. The boatmen dropped the pots and snatched their own guns, rushing toward the forest, where she saw two eyes staring at her from the gloom under the trees. They were greenish eyes gleaming like a cat's, only much larger, and they shone out of the dark as though they belonged to a bodiless spirit. She heard a shot and then another, and the eyes vanished as she felt Philip's arm around her shoulders and heard him say:

"Don't be afraid! It's all right!"

"What—what was that?" she gasped.

"A panther. They'll attend to it."

"Are you sure it's dead?"

"Yes, yes," he assured her, but she did not hear what else he said. She had wheeled around toward the river, dizzy with a new alarm.

His cargo had come to life. From the cabin of his boat were yells and beating noises that might have been those of wild animals fighting the walls of their prison. Exclaiming "Stay where you are!" Philip rushed down to his boat, but she ran after him, terrified at being left alone. He sprang to the deck and pulled open one of the windows, and she saw stout wooden bars inside it and a dim light beyond them.

Philip was shouting through the bars demanding quiet. He slammed the shutter as she reached him, but not soon enough to keep her from seeing his cargo. She cried out in amazement.

He turned to her. They were so close together that in the dwindling daylight she could see his smile, impudent and placating at once. He asked:

"Are you so astonished that I should trade in slaves?"

Judith twisted the end of her kerchief. "Why no," she answered dubiously. "We've seen several slave-traders on the river."

But she was walking away from him, toward the plank that led from the deck to the shore. He came after her and caught her shoulder.

"Then why are you leaving me like this? Aren't there any slaves in Connecticut?"

She paused. "Yes, of course there are. Not many—they are no good in winter—we never had any." But she was still confused. Other slave-traders she had seen didn't keep their blacks locked up like that. There was something wrong about that boat. Then with a flash of horror she knew what it was.

She jerked back. "Let me go!" she cried. "You're a smuggler—a pirate—let me go!"

He smiled at her astuteness. "Do you think," he asked her, "that I look like a pirate?"

"I don't know what pirates look like," Judith retorted. "But if you hadn't stolen those slaves you'd have purchase papers, and if you had papers you wouldn't be so almighty careful not to let anybody see what's on this boat. Let me go, I tell you!"

She began to cry. She had heard hair-raising tales of how smugglers on the Mississippi cut men's throats for the sake of their cargoes, but she was crying less in fear than in disappointment. He had been so suave and charming.

"Don't be absurd," said Philip, but Judith covered her face with her hands and choked helplessly. Suddenly she heard her father's voice from the bank.

"Judith! Mr. Larne! What were those guns?"

Judith pressed back against the cabin wall, drying her eyes on her kerchief. Philip went down to the bank.

"I'm sorry you were disturbed, Mr. Sheramy," she heard him say, as smoothly as if he had not just proved himself a blackguard. "The men have just killed a panther. The young lady was frightened and ran to the boat. One moment—I'll help her down."

He came back, saying clearly as he took her arm, "It will be quite safe for you to go through the brake with your father, Miss Sheramy."


Excerpted from Deep Summer by Gwen Bristow. Copyright © 1965 Gwen Bristow. Excerpted by permission of OPEN ROAD INTEGRATED MEDIA.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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Deep Summer 4.7 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 9 reviews.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
This was really good. Enjoyed from beginning to end.
belle7171 More than 1 year ago
I received an ARC by the publisher in exchange for an honest review.  Deep Summer is the first of Gwen Bristow’s Plantation Trilogy that is being re-released.  I grew up in the 1970’s reading my mother’s books voraciously.  I adored Ms. Bristow’s other books, as they were epic historical novels with heroines that I adored.  I don’t know why this one slipped through the cracks.  Deep Summer follows Judith Sheramy from the moment she marries Philip Larne as a young girl in the early days of Louisiana back in the 1700’s before the Louisiana Purchase.  The book follows the Larnes and the story of Judith’s brother Caleb and others as they navigate plantation life and family relationships. All with a dash of the history of the region.   Judith is an intelligent woman who was able to handle the plantation, but for me the character that stole the show was Caleb’s wife Dolores.  I’m happy the author decided to add to her story as the book went on.   This is one of Ms. Bristow’s smaller works, but that doesn’t mean that it wasn’t immersive.  She brought this historical southern story to life for me.  Now, to continue to read the rest of the trilogy!  
Mirella More than 1 year ago
Once in a while, a great book comes along – and this is it! From its compelling characters, to the tumultuous backdrop, this family saga kept me enthralled to the very end. The first book in a trilogy, Deep Summer’s main focus is Philip and Judith Larne who marry and establish a plantation in the Louisianna territory. The story expands to encompass key characters from surrounding plantations. Beautifully written, the storyline moves along at a steady clip as the characters face numerous threats in the form of deceit, fires, yellow fever epidemics, illicit love affairs, and betrayal. Each character is thoughtfully revealed and portrayed - their personal stories rich with detail. And that's what keeps readers hooked throughout.  History, romance, murder, deceit, honour, and endurance are all themes interwove into the storyline. I could not put the book down once I started and I am eager to read the other two books in the series, in addition to the author’s other titles. If you love rich family sagas that are bold and vivid, then get this book! Truly unputdownable!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Guest More than 1 year ago
This is an absolutely amazing book! It ranks among Gone With the Wind. I found it entertaining, but it gets slightly routine in the middle. One of the greatest books ever written!!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
CallawayArt More than 1 year ago
The first time I read these books I was 13. A neighbor gave me a box of books and this trilogy was part of the lot.     I devoured them.  I could barely put them down.  I am very happy to now have them in my Nook library.    I devoured them.  Excited to now now have them in my Nook library.   I believe I will by copies to give to my grand daughter (wo also loves to read) for Christmas. 
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Anonymous More than 1 year ago