Maud tried to imagine how this would be going if Frank or her mother were here. Their worlds were full of mystical connections and wild coincidences—beautiful twists of fate that unfolded to give one’s life a shape as graceful and parabolic as a perfectly plotted book. But it was Maud’s blessing—or her curse; she’d never been sure which—that she could usually see the pedestrian facts behind the seemingly wild coincidences, the ropes and pulleys that held up the sets, the actors’ makeup that covered age and fatigue, the dreams of lighted marquees that ended in half-filled theaters in tiny two-horse towns.
She remembered her days with the Baum Theatre Company, when it was her job to give out news—sometimes good, like payday, though other times disappointing, like a canceled show. Back then, she had decided that it was an occupational weakness among theater people to be quick to believe in magic. But, perhaps as a consequence of the hard life they all led, they were also quick to become cynical once the slightest bit of humbug was exposed. Indeed, the assembled group now looked at Maud with expressions of eager hopefulness admixed with suspicion.
But not Judy. Her brown eyes glowed. “It must be some kind of sign, don’t you think?”
The young star was wearing a brown wig, curled into ringlets. Her lips, painted with red lipstick, were parted. She had an open quality, full of childlike wonder. It was not unlike the chief characteristic Maud had seen in Frank himself.
“Oz itself has a magic to it,” Maud said, following her instinct to tread lightly on this girl’s openhearted hope.
Judy reached out and rubbed the sleeve of the jacket. “I’m sure this will give us good luck.”
“Okay, everybody!” a man wearing chinos and a white button-down shirt called out. “We’ve got to get a move on here.”
“You’ll stay and watch, won’t you?” Mary Smith lightly touched Maud’s arm. “Let me show you where you can sit without getting in the way.” She led Maud to a viewing platform set up atop a scaffold, with a flight of wooden stairs leading to it. Maud settled on a wooden folding chair to watch.
In her younger days, Maud had spent many hours in the back of darkened theaters watching rehearsals, but she soon realized that this was quite different. The set was not a stage but, rather, a large area broken up into several different regions—a bridge with real water under it was on one side, and a wooden caravan with a small burning campfire next to it was on another. Dozens of people milled around, several clusters of cameramen perched on high stools, men fiddled with the thick power cords that snaked everywhere, clipboard-carrying assistants darted to and fro. Judy’s mother, Ethel Gumm, leaned against a far wall, lips pursed in concentration.
The scene they were filming involved the girl crossing the wooden bridge, an empty basket in one hand, a suitcase in the other, as Toto followed at her heels. The bright-eyed terrier looked as if he’d leapt straight out of the pages of the book. As Judy crossed the bridge, the dog had to walk just behind her, and then, at just the right moment, run down the path toward his handler, who stood just off camera with a small bag of treats. Girl and dog were patiently enduring endless takes of the same short series of actions. Each time, something seemed to go wrong, which necessitated more fiddling with the lights, the power cords, and the cameras. When the cameras were rolling, Judy was the focal point of everyone’s attention, but as soon as the cameras stopped, everyone ignored her. Between takes, Judy knelt down and stroked the dog, the only one who paid her any mind.
After a while, even this repetitive action ceased. It appeared that one of the cameras wasn’t working, and Judy waited, speaking to no one, while the key grip and gaffer conferred. Judy was standing alone, her back to Maud, holding Toto, when a dark-haired man approached the girl from behind and tried to slip his arm over her shoulders. As he did so, the little dog growled, then let out a series of short barks. The man quickly retracted his arm.
“Now, Toto,” Judy said. “Don’t do that! That’s not nice!” She turned bashfully to the dark-haired man. “I’m sorry, Mr. Freed.”
The dog’s trainer snapped his fingers, and Toto leapt down from his perch in Judy’s arms and jumped up into his trainer’s. Freed stepped back in, slipping his arm around her waist this time and leaning in close. Judy edged a step away, but he drew her nearer, whispering in her ear. Maud couldn’t hear what the man was saying, but there was something about the heavy drape of his arm around the girl that bothered her.
The well-behaved terrier hadn’t moved from his trainer’s arms, but Maud noticed that the dog was watching Judy and the man carefully. When the director called out that the cast was breaking for lunch, Maud hoped to catch up with the girl, to have a private word with her and tell her something about the character of Dorothy—perhaps something she could use to help her develop the role—but Maud had no chance of reaching her. Judy, not even five feet tall, was dwarfed between the full-grown men who hurried her out the sound stage door.
CHAPTER
7
FAYETTEVILLE, NEW YORK
1880
Maud placed her bags on the sidewalk, ran up the front steps, and threw her arms around one of the big white pillars on her front porch. How odd that she had flown out of this house just a few months earlier with scarcely a look back and now felt her heart leap at the sight of it. There was something so solid and comfortable about its square frame with the four white columns out front, the wide porch, the beveled windows. The house looked anchored to the ground, the street, the neighborhood. Home. She opened the front door.
It was Christmastime, and the place was bedecked. Evergreens hung from the mantel and looped up the banister. The scent of a baking chicken floated in from the kitchen. In a sudden flood of relief, she felt her entire body go limp. It was so good to be home, away from all the worries and exhaustions of school.
With a rapid bustle of skirts and petticoats, Matilda swept into the front hall as if transported by a secret force. She was diminutive but such a strong presence that, as always, she seemed to fill the room with her aura. Maud flung herself against her mother as Matilda gathered her in her warm embrace.
“My coed is home at last!” Matilda exclaimed. “I can hardly wait for you to tell me all you’ve learned.”
Maud blew at her bangs with a puff of breath from between pursed lips.
“I’ve learned a great deal about mankind,” Maud said. “None of it good.”
“You’ll have to share every detail,” Matilda said happily, seeming not to notice Maud’s bleak tone.
“Let’s let Maudie get herself settled before we pepper her with questions, shall we?” suggested Julia, and Maud flashed her older sister a grateful glance.
“Where’s Papa?” Maud asked.
“Sleeping,” Matilda said.
Maud felt a flicker of worry. “Fevers? Again?”
Matilda nodded. “I’m afraid so, but he’s been a bit better these last few days. He’s been waiting eagerly for your arrival. Now, let’s have some dinner, shall we? You must be tired and hungry!”
* * *
—
JULIA SAT AT THE FOOT of Maud’s bed, watching as she unpacked her traveling bag. Maud’s older sister had a small head and ears that stuck out a little too far from the sides of her head. Her hair was very long, below her waist, and she always braided and coiled it, taking care to cover her ears. Somehow, the combination of the top knot, protuberant ears, and ruddy round face had always reminded Maud of a jolly teapot just about to boil. Right now, her beautiful hazel eyes, her best feature, were lit up with enthusiasm at Maud’s return.
“What was it like?” Julia asked. “Tell me everything!”
“I guess that depends on what you mean.”
Julia leaned forward, her face full of interest. “Did you meet any special young men?”
Maud sighed. “ ‘Special’ might not precisely be the right word for it…”
“I imagine that there must be quite a social whirl? Parties and dances?”
Maud, seeing her sister’s eager face, did not want to disappoint. “Well, they call Sage College ‘the henhouse,’ and the young men do come around quite a bit. They join us for dinner—and some of them aren’t so bad…”
Maud flounced back onto her bed and stared at the ceiling. “The truth is, most of them are horrid. The classes are interesting, and I wouldn’t mind school so much if it were just us girls. Do you know how hard it is not to bring too much attention to yourself?”
Julia tucked a lock of Maud’s hair behind her sister’s ear. “I suppose we’ve all indulged you,” she said. “Mother and Papa both—they’ve always let you be such an unfettered spirit.”
“I’m an unfettered spirit? I’ve been indulged? What is that supposed to mean?” Maud sat up again, and with her stocking-toed feet sticking out in front of her on the bedspread, she looked like a child about to start a tantrum.
“Nothing, my beautiful. You are perfect the way you are—the beautiful lark of the Gage family.”
Maud’s lower lip trembled. She pinched her arm. “Do you mean to tell me that everyone even in my own family considers me to be a flighty bird? Did no one think to share this with me before sending me out on my own?”
Julia closed her eyes and drew a slow breath. “Maud, you are not a flighty bird—not at all. You are like a beautiful canary with all its shining plumage, and everyone delights at the sight. Mother never clipped your wings. I think she simply couldn’t bear to do it….I wasn’t sure that was wise.”
“Brilliant plumage? Clipped wings? If you are trying to make me feel better, rest assured that it is not working! Maud Gage, odd bird!”
“When you are a girl, it is a good idea to have a firm grasp of your expectations. Our lot in life is restricted, no matter what Mother and her friends might say. Sometimes it’s better to know that and learn to live with it.”
Maud kicked her heels against the bedspread, her brows knit in frustration. “You must be mad. A bird with clipped wings can’t fly. It just hops around in the most pathetic sort of way, and when a cat comes…!” Maud made a loud gulping sound, pretending to be a cat swallowing a meal. “You don’t want to be that bird, and neither do I! Can I tell you the most incredible thing? My dearest friend, Josie, once gave me the advice to try to act like an aspidistra plant that stands in a pot in the corner of one of the rooms.”
Julia’s eyes sparkled with laughter, and the hand resting upon her lap began to shake. Her sister was trying desperately not to laugh—so Maud poked her in the stomach. “Oh, go on….You think it’s funny!”
Julia laughed out loud. “An aspidistra plant. Now, imagine that!”
Maud leaned in and whispered earnestly: “I don’t think that’s the answer—clipping our wings and planting our feet. Why, if we do that, how are we any better than the heathen Chinamen who bind their ladies’ feet?”
“Well, you’ve got nothing to worry about. You just can’t be repressed—believe me, I’ve tried.”
Maud was about to snap back another retort, but when she focused on her sister’s face, she bit her tongue. Had her sister always had those fine lines around her eyes? And was that a single silver strand cutting through her fawn-brown hair? At nineteen, Maud felt just barely grown up, but Julia was twenty-nine, and how much smaller was her world, here at home, with Papa sick and Mother too busy with her suffrage work to handle the family affairs? Couldn’t she tolerate her sister’s chiding on her first day home from school?
“You know what?” Maud said, changing the subject. “Josie—my roommate, you remember—has invited me to come to her house for a Christmas party. She wants me to meet her first cousin.”
Now Julia looked interested. “A young man?” she asked.
“Yes, indeed,” said Maud, but then her cheery face was taken over by storm clouds. “I’m sure he will hate me! Or laugh at me!”
“But why would you think that?”
“You have no idea. The Cornell boys despise me—they hate me once for being Maud, and twice for being Matilda’s daughter.”
Julia picked at an imaginary piece of lint on the counterpane and then smoothed the front of her dress. Maud noticed just the slightest shadow crossing her sister’s face, so fleeting that no one but a sister would have caught it. It had never occurred to Maud that Julia also might have had trouble finding suitors because of Matilda’s reputation.
Maud regarded her sister’s funny face, framed with a frizz of loose curls that never seemed to want to lie right. As she took in her intelligent eyes and her short broad nose, she felt a familiar stab of emotion. Deep down, she knew that her sister wanted nothing more than what any maiden wanted: a household of her own to run. And yet this ordinary dream seemed so elusive for Julia.
“I suppose we’re not particularly marriageable!” Maud said with sudden conviction. “Who wishes to take the hand of the dog who tries to bite it!”
“Maud!” Julia exclaimed in mock horror, but then she couldn’t help laughing.
“Neither of us married,” Maud said. “From what I hear, there are not enough women to go around out in Dakota…” Maud pushed her sister’s arm. “Perhaps you should go visit T.C.!” Their brother had moved to Dakota Territory several years ago. “You might make quite an impression out on the frontier.”
Julia covered her mouth with her hand, but not before Maud saw that she was hiding a smile.
“I have a beau. His name is James Carpenter. He’s trying to get enough money together to stake a claim in Dakota.”
“Julia!” Maud flung her arms around her sister in excitement. “This is the most wonderful news! Do you think you’ll get engaged?”
“I’m not sure. I don’t want to leave with Papa so ill, and James doesn’t have a lot of money. He’s a bit younger than I am,” Julia whispered. “Don’t be shocked.”
“Younger?”
“Just twenty,” Julia said.
Maud tried to hide her surprise. “You have almost a full decade on him? Why, he’s closer to my age than yours!” Maud placed her hand on her sister’s arm. “Are you sure that’s wise? It’s much more usual for the age difference to fall in the other direction.”
Julia’s face took on a stubborn cast. “I don’t find you to be so worried about conventions when it’s your own life you’re considering. Has it occurred to you, my beautiful baby sister, that my options have dwindled, that I might have to make the best of what is offered? I do love Mother, but she is so trying.”
“Oh, but what difference does it make how old he is!” Maud said. “Of course you need your own household. Let us not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments! It is a marriage of true minds, my sweet Julia, isn’t it?”
Julia continued to pick at the counterpane.
“He’s not got much capital, but with what I bring along it will be enough to start up a small farm in Dakota. You won’t stand in the way of my happiness, will you, Maudie darling? You’ve no idea what it feels like to have you gone and be left here behind. It’s time for me to lead my own life!”
Maud fell silent, contemplating her sister’s serious expression. “If you love him, I love him, too. What do Mother and Papa say?”
Julia held a finger up to her lips. “Mother doesn’t know. We won’t tell her until our plan is almost set. As for Papa…” Julia turned and looked out the window.
“Is Papa truly so ill?” Maud asked. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
“Mother didn’t want to worry you and distract you from your studies.”
So much had happened since Maud’s departure. Julia with a beau and Papa so sick. How could everything have changed in that short time?
“Come now,” Julia said. “What about this young man you are supposed to meet?” Clearly, Julia didn’t want to dwell on Papa’s illness, s
o Maud did her best to answer. “I don’t know much about him—but listen to this: He’s in the theater. He travels all over, putting on plays.”
“The theater? That hardly sounds appropriate. Mother won’t want to hear of it. She wants you to focus on your studies.”
Maud looked out the window. “I try so hard to be grateful. I know how much Mother and Papa have sacrificed to send me to the university. I wish I liked it better, but I just don’t.”
“You won’t quit, will you? Mother would be crushed!”
Maud picked up her feather pillow and swatted her sister so that bits of feather floated out and caught the amber afternoon sunlight beaming in the window. “Don’t breathe a word to Mother.” Maud whacked her sister with the pillow again. “I’m desperately trying to like it. I really am!”
* * *
—
ON CHRISTMAS EVE, the weather was cold and snowy. Josie’s family was sending a sleigh to fetch Maud the eight miles to Syracuse. At half past four, the Baums’ driver reined the two-horse team to a halt in front of Maud’s house, helped her settle in her seat, and tucked her in warmly under thick layers of robes. Maud greeted her fellow passengers, some relations of the Baums who lived in the neighboring town of Manlius. Sleigh bells chimed as the party glided along the road that led from Fayetteville to Syracuse. Thick white flakes swirled through the air, and her breath came out in white puffs. Her hands were encased in a fur muff, resting on top of the heavy wool robes. Bundled in a thick wool coat and scarf, with the luxurious folds of her crimson velvet dress hidden underneath, she was warm, but she still shivered in anticipation of the evening’s festivities.
Maud had convinced herself that she was not interested in meeting a young man, any young man. She had spent more time avoiding the gentlemen at Cornell than getting to know them. Meeting this itinerant theater man—such a peculiar profession—was certain to be awkward, and no matter how much Josie had boasted of her cousin’s charm, Maud was sure she wouldn’t fall for it. She was not in the market for a suitor. Her job was to pursue her studies.
Finding Dorothy Page 7