Maud gave Frank a tiny nod. “Well, all right then, missy.” Frank lowered the step and placed his foot on the running board. “Dorothy, say goodbye and then climb on up.”
“And Toto, too!” Magdalena said firmly.
She clasped one hand over her stick-thin arm and watched, her large violet eyes unblinking, as Frank and Maud went through an elaborate pantomime, first making room on the spring seat for Dorothy, next tucking a robe around her imaginary legs, then petting her pretend pup and setting its make-believe basket beside them.
As the wagon began to roll away, Magdalena lifted her hand and slowly began to wave, and Maud held her breath. Suddenly Frank jumped up, shaded his eyes with his hand, and cried out, “Oh, Toto! You naughty little pup! Where are you running so fast?”
Getting impatient, the driver raised his whip. His pair of horses picked up a faster trot; by now they were a good distance from the house. Balancing in the jarring wagon, Frank shouted, “I’m sorry, Magdalena, but that puppy wanted to stay with you. Here!” He scooped up something, a handful of air, and tossed it to the girl. “It’s his basket!” he called out. “I think you might need it.”
Magdalena teetered there for a moment longer, as if undecided, but at last Maud saw her grab the imaginary basket by its handle and disappear around the back of the house and out of sight.
They rode along in silence for a good long while, and they were almost back to the Edgeley depot when the rainbow reappeared, this time not just a piece of it but a semicircle, arching all the way across the big prairie sky, its vivid colors in sharp contrast to the gray landscape.
“You see that rainbow?”
Maud nodded miserably.
“You know where I’d like to live?” Frank said.
“Where, Frank?” Maud said.
“If one end of this rainbow lives on this bleak and soulless plain, then I’d like to be clear out at the far end of it. Somewhere, somewhere over there is a place that is better. I’m just sure of it, Maudie.”
Maud scooched her way across the bare wooden bench until she was leaning up against him.
“Do you really think so?” she asked.
“I’m just sure of it,” Frank said. “And another thing, Maudie, as hard as this may be for you—that godforsaken shack on the prairie, your cranky, bent-over sister, that field full of prairie dogs? That’s home for Magdalena. Nothing can change that.”
“We’ve let her down.”
“No, we did the best we could,” Frank said. “And you know what we’ll do now?” he asked, miming that he was tucking a blanket around a child’s legs. “We’ll look after Dorothy. Together.”
He regarded her, his eyes the same shade as the slate-colored sky. “Promise?”
Maud looked up at the rainbow. It appeared to start just over the cluster of lonely buildings that made up the town of Edgeley, but then it arched up and disappeared into the clouds. Was it possible? Was there really somewhere else—somewhere at the far end of the rainbow that was better than this place? She certainly hoped so.
“Maudie?”
She nodded morosely. “I promise.”
CHAPTER
21
HOLLYWOOD
1939
Maud entered the sound stage and saw a painted yellow road that ended at the feet of a giant plywood gate, and she realized with a start that this was it. The filming had literally reached the end of the Yellow Brick Road, the Emerald City. In yellow paint, she could read the truth. She was running out of time.
Maud saw no actors about—just a crew of workers. A fellow in paint-splattered coveralls had just pried open a can of paint and had left a broad swath of green across one of the white walls.
“Oh, no!” Maud cried out, forgetting herself. “What are you doing? Are you mad? The Emerald City is not supposed to be green!”
The painter looked up in surprise as Maud approached, handbag in the crook of her arm, a stern look on her face.
He stood up with the expression of a guilty schoolboy, tucked his paint rag in his back pocket, and stood at attention as if expecting a scolding. “Beg pardon, ma’am?”
“The Emerald City is not green!” Maud said.
The man doffed his cap, pulled a bandanna back out of his pocket, and wiped his brow.
“Not green, you say?”
Looking puzzled, he called over to his painter partner. “Hey, Ray! The lady says it’s not supposed to be green.” He turned back to Maud. “Well, what color is it?”
“Well…” Maud said. “It’s white.”
“White, you say?” The painter’s head was cocked as he squinted at Maud. “I’ve got orders for No. 2309. Emerald green.”
“The spectacles are green. But the Emerald City is white.”
The painter seemed to take it on Maud’s authority. He shrugged, replaced the lid on the paint can, and prepared to leave. “Emerald City is white!” the fellow muttered. “It don’t figure.”
But at that moment, the director, Victor Fleming, strode onto the set.
“We’ll need to see how that shade of green looks with the Technicolor. Just finish up that one wall and we’ll give it a test.”
“The lady said it’s supposed to be white.”
“What lady?”
The painter jerked his head in Maud’s direction.
Fleming did not look amused. “Mrs. Baum?”
“Well, of course the Emerald City is white! Haven’t you read the book? It’s the Wizard who plays a trick on the inhabitants of Oz by making them all wear green spectacles.”
“Green spectacles,” Fleming said, frowning. “That’s not in the script.”
“That’s the problem,” Maud said. “It should be!”
Fleming all but rolled his eyes. “Right. Of course. Thank you, Mrs. Baum. I’ll be sure to keep that in mind. Carry on there, fellows. I need that whole wall painted green, and get it done quick. Time’s a-wasting.”
Maud raised her hand to say more, but Fleming was already walking away. Undeterred, she chased after him.
“White!” she repeated. “The Emerald City was white.”
Fleming ignored her.
“Mr. Fleming! I absolutely must speak to you about this!”
Fleming turned impatiently. “My good woman. We are on a tight schedule here. What is it that you want to say?”
“In The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, the Emerald City is white. The Wizard is a humbug—a faker—and he creates the illusion that the city is green by making all of the inhabitants wear green spectacles, you see, because the Wizard isn’t what he says he is. And that is the magic of Oz—the magic is that it isn’t magic at all.”
Fleming pressed his lips together, and his shoulders tensed. “This is a fascinating insight, but we’ve got a set to paint. How exactly do you propose that we get the audience to put on green spectacles?”
“But it’s not the audience—it’s…well, you see, the Emerald City was white because the White City was—”
“Right. Got it.” Fleming turned his back to her. Maud realized that her audience was over.
“No, young man, you haven’t got it. The Yellow Brick Road stops right here, at this gate.” She pointed to the ground. “But what happens next is the heart of the story.” Unfortunately, she realized that he was no longer listening.
As she turned to leave, she saw the painter rolling the bright green hue across the big expanse of white plywood flimflam they had constructed to serve as the Emerald City.
Maud was walking back to the parking lot when a voice called out to her.
“Mrs. Baum!”
Maud turned to see the young actress coming up behind her. “Judy!”
“Could I speak to you for a minute?”
Maud looked at her with concern. Her eyes were unusually bright, and she was chewing on h
er lower lip.
“Is everything all right? No more hat-pin trouble?”
Judy blushed. “No, it’s nothing like that. I just wanted to thank you for helping me out the other day.”
“Well, that’s very kind of you, but I didn’t do anything I wouldn’t do for one of my own children.”
Seeing Judy hesitate as if wanting to continue their conversation, Maud put her hand on the girl’s arm. “Wait,” she said. “Do you have time to go to lunch?”
“I’d love to, but not here,” Judy said under her breath. “Everybody is watching every bite I eat.”
Twenty minutes later, Maud and Judy sat in a wood-paneled booth inside the shadowy interior of Musso & Frank’s. Maud noticed again the unusual brightness in Judy’s eyes, and the way she fidgeted in her seat. Even her hand shook a little as she grasped her water glass. She tried to hide the tremor by steadying it with her other hand, but she saw that Maud had already spotted it.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Maud asked.
Judy frowned. “It’s the diet pills. They make me shaky, and I can’t sleep.”
Maud peered at the girl. “You don’t sleep?”
Judy sighed and traced a drop of water that had splashed on the scarred-up hardwood table. “If I can’t sleep for a few days, they put me in the infirmary and give me pills to help. The studio doctors can do anything with pills—speed you up, slow you down.” She sounded half-bored, as if all this pill taking were in the natural order of things.
Maud reached a hand out and placed it on the girl’s arm. “Forgive me for prying, but does your mother know about this?”
“Ethel?” Judy said. “She’s the one who told the studio doctors to do it. She calls them my bolts and jolts.”
Maud thought of her own mother—her horror of patent medicines, her belief that they were a scourge for women. And she thought of Julia, and the medicine that had ruled her life.
“I would recommend that you be cautious,” Maud said. “Medicines have a way of exerting a power that you would not expect.”
Judy shrugged. “I really don’t get that much choice in the matter.”
“Let me tell you something right now. You may be young and you may be a girl, but I pray that you will remember that you always have a choice in any matter.”
Judy sighed. “It sure doesn’t feel like that.”
A red-jacketed waiter stopped at their table. “Are you ready to order?”
Judy flipped open the menu.
“Everything is good,” Maud said. “But I recommend the French dip sandwich. It comes with French fries. Two?”
“That sounds delicious!” Judy said.
The waiter nodded curtly and picked up their menus.
“Oh no,” Judy said, ducking her head down a bit. “It’s Yip Harburg, the lyricist. He’s going to see me!”
A moment later, Harburg approached their table. “Why, if it isn’t Miss Judy Garland. And Mrs. Baum.”
“Why don’t you join us?” Maud said. “I’m assuming you are not among those who are spying on what Judy eats for lunch.”
“You kidding me?” Harburg said. “Half the writers in Hollywood who aren’t supposed to be drinking are in the back room right now. Nobody’s business what people want to do in their own free time, far as I’m concerned.” He turned to Judy. “Don’t worry, I’m not following you. I was browsing at the Stanley Rose bookstore when I saw you walk by.” The bookshop next door was a popular gathering place for screenwriters.
“Well, it’s perfect timing,” Maud said. “Have a seat. I need to talk to you.”
Harburg hung his fedora on the hook next to their booth. “May I?” He slipped into the spot next to Judy. “What can I help you with, Mrs. Baum?”
“It’s the Emerald City,” Maud said. “They are painting it green!”
One side of Harburg’s mouth slanted upward. His eyes twinkled behind his horn-rimmed glasses. “The Emerald City green? You don’t say!”
“You’re laughing,” Maud said, not amused. “But it’s not funny. In the book, the Emerald City is white and people only think it’s green. It’s one of the Wizard’s tricks.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I do realize that. We talked about having the characters put on spectacles, but we decided to do it a different way. If you think of it differently, you might not mind as much.”
“Differently?”
“What is Technicolor but a pair of green-tinted spectacles? Technicolor is more vibrant than the real world—it’s a fever dream of color that someone could only invent in his mind’s eye.”
“You’re suggesting that the Technicolor is the tinted spectacles?” Maud tried to grasp what he meant.
“That’s right.” Harburg grinned. “The wizardry begins when you sit down in the theater. There’s magic in the whole crazy movie-making process. I don’t know how it works, but it does. You start with cardboard, spray paint, chicken wire, and plywood, and you end up with—”
“The Land of Oz!” Judy said.
“Exactly!” Harburg said.
“Hmm,” Maud said. “Sounds like Frank talking when you put it that way.”
Harburg grinned and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Wait until you watch the picture,” Harburg said. “You’ll see what I mean. I’ve gotta go.”
He jumped up, grabbed his hat from the hook, and tipped it toward them.
“Nice talking to you ladies!” he said.
“Wait a minute,” Maud said. “I’ve been wanting to ask you. What’s going on with the rainbow song?”
“Judy.” Harburg smiled. “That girl was born to sing that song.”
“Judy? Yes, of course,” Maud said, aware that he was avoiding her question. “But I mean the words. Have you finished them?”
“Don’t worry about the words, Mrs. Baum. You said yourself it’s in the manner. There just has to be enough wanting in it. Judy’s got it just right. It’s going to be a big hit.” He tipped his hat to Judy again. “You’re gonna knock ’em dead, kid.”
When Harburg was gone, Maud noticed that Judy had left her plate of food half-finished.
“You didn’t like it?”
“I’m just not that hungry. I guess the pills are working,” she said with a brittle smile.
Even in the dim restaurant light, Judy’s hair glinted with coppery highlights, her lips were plum-colored, her skin luminous and sun-kissed with a sprinkle of freckles, and her brown eyes, fringed with thick, dark lashes, reflected a wisdom greater than her years. By every measure, this girl was brushed with something special—and yet, Maud always sensed the vulnerability in her.
As they gathered up their things to leave, Judy turned to Maud.
“You know, I really don’t like the Wizard,” she said.
“You don’t like the Wizard?”
“What kind of a man would send a little girl to kill a witch?” Judy said. “Why wouldn’t he just help her?”
Maud thought of the day she and Frank had left Magdalena on Julia’s homestead. It had been the hardest day of Maud’s life.
“Sometimes,” Maud said, “I was also angry at the Wizard. But the Wizard was right about one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“You always need to fix your own problems. Nobody else is going to fix them for you.”
CHAPTER
22
CHICAGO, ILLINOIS
1891
Maud gulped repeatedly and took deep breaths through her nose. She was not going to cry in front of the boys. Disembarking from the train in Chicago’s dazzling new Grand Central Station had set the boys to chattering, as had the trolley through downtown. In every way—size, scope, people, number of buildings—everything here in the great city surpassed Aberdeen. Maud had marveled at the crowded streets, the giant edifice
s, the avenues of grand houses. It was all gleaming and modern and beautiful.
But eventually their hansom cab had clattered out of the new part of the city and reached the western neighborhoods, the part that had not been affected by the Great Chicago Fire of 1871. It was late March, but patches of sooty snow still clung in some of the alleyways, and a brisk wind cut through the curtains of the cab. Soon they were passing along an avenue lined with rows of narrow, shabby buildings that tilted against one another as if too exhausted to stand up on their own. The streets teemed with grubby children. Mothers gathered around communal water pumps, bundled up in bulky skirts with kerchiefs tied around their heads. When, at last, the cab pulled up in front of 34 Campbell Park, Frank announced in a cheerful voice, “We’re home.” And Maud, struggling not to let her true feelings show, took in the grubby clapboard-and-brick row house that was to be their new home.
The inside of the house was as dreary as the outside. The building had neither indoor plumbing nor a connection for gas. At night, the interior was dim and eerie, lit only by the flickering of kerosene. When Maud looked out the windows, she saw brick walls. But she did what she could to make it into a home. She scrubbed until the rooms were clean and smelled fresh. Frank hung a cheap reproduction of Millet’s The Angelus over the water stain on the parlor wall.
At the end of the first week, Frank came home and spread the newspaper across the kitchen table. “Here it is, right here. My story about moving day has landed on the front page!”
Maud looked at the newspaper, searching for Frank’s name.
“I’m afraid they didn’t include a byline—but they will soon,” Frank said.
“Where’s your pay?” Maud asked, barely glancing at the newspaper.
Frank fished into his coat pocket and handed her some bills and coins. She looked at them in disbelief. Frank had secured employment with the Chicago Evening Post, one of the crop of new newspapers struggling to carve out a niche in the fast-growing city. He’d told her that he would be paid a salary of twenty dollars a week.
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