7
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, so 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.
A large pine wreath hung on the door of the Baum residence, a comfortable Italianate-style house on one of Syracuse’s most beautiful streets. Through the front door’s beveled glass, shadows moved, and then the door swung open with a tinkling of bells. Josie greeted Maud and her traveling companions warmly, helped her off with her coat, and admired her Christmas dress. Over her friend’s shoulder, the room was crowded with revelers.
“He’s in the front parlor,” Josie leaned in to whisper conspiratorially. Then, louder: “Come in, come in!”
Josie led Maud into a spacious parlor. In the corner stood a giant, richly scented northern pine, festooned with sugarplums, ribbons, tin cutouts, and glowing candles. A gentleman was playing Christmas carols at the piano, and a group was singing; others stood in clusters, chatting gaily. Josie stepped away to greet a new group of guests at the door. Maud felt suddenly shy—she did not know any of the Baum family—but a moment later, a large woman with a shiny red face, dressed in emerald velvet, took Maud’s arm in hers.
“You must be Maud Gage. You are just as pretty as my daughter said. She has told me so much about you!” Maud took an instant liking to Josie’s mother, and she followed her deeper into the parlor.
“There is someone Josie wants you to meet.”
The room was so crowded that the pair had to work their way around the cluster at the piano and through several conversational knots. At last they reached the small group of people her hostess had been looking for. A tall man was standing with his back toward them. Maud suddenly regretted that she had agreed to this introduction. What had she been thinking? She started to pull her arm loose of Josie’s mother’s grasp, but Mrs. Baum held tight. With her other hand, she reached out and tapped the gentleman on his arm, and he spun around. Maud found herself face-to-face with a slender brown-haired man with bright gray eyes and a thick, dark moustache. She felt a streak of something dark and hot plunge from her throat down through her belly.
Mrs. Baum gently pushed Maud toward him.
“This is my nephew Frank. Frank, I want you to meet Miss Maud Gage. I’m sure you will love her.”
The young man tipped his head toward Maud, and a slow smile spread across his face. “Consider yourself loved, Miss Gage.”
She could see a twinkle of merriment in the gentleman’s eye. Was he making fun of her? He looked at her as if expecting a response.
“I consider that a promise,” Maud answered tartly. “Please see that you live up to it.”
She whirled away quickly, without giving him any chance to answer, only to see Josie hurrying toward her, her eyes dancing.
“So? What did you think?” Josie whispered. “Good-looking, isn’t he?”
Maud clasped her hands in front of her stomach, attempting to compose herself.
“Well?” Josie said, looking at her friend with great interest.
Before Maud could decide what to say, she was interrupted by Josie’s mother, who gestured them over to the piano to join the carolers.
Maud linked arms with Josie as they sang “The Holly and the Ivy.” Over her shoulder, she heard one of the voices, a silvery, floating tenor, separate itself from the group, chiming in a melodic descant, but she did not turn around to see whose it was. The pianist flipped through a book of popular carols, and Maud and Josie sang joyfully, calling out the names of their favorites, still arm in arm. Maud was so caught up in the singing that she didn’t think of Josie’s cousin at all. By the time they had finished caroling, the young man had disappeared from sight.
SHE WAS SEATED IN another room, chatting with a small group of girls, when she looked up to see that Frank Baum had come in to join her.
“Do you mind?” he asked, gesturing to a nearby chair.
“Please,” Maud said.
“I’m afraid I may have offended you,” he said.
“Not at all,” Maud replied. “If you offend me, you will know it immediately.”
“And how will I know?” he asked, evidently amused.
“Because I’ll tell you.”
“My cousin Josie thinks the world of you. She has told me so much about you.”
“And what kind of things did she tell you?” Maud blushed at the implication. He clearly did not know that Maud heard far too often that people were talking about her.
“Let me see if I can remember….Ah, no need to remember,” he said. “I have it right here!”
He fished into his breast pocket and pulled out a letter, which he began to read aloud.
“ ‘We had a most agreeable time on Hallowe’en,’ ” he read, in a warm, musical voice. “ ‘We girls decided to conduct a séance—’ ”
“She didn’t!” Maud exclaimed.
Frank smiled, his expression amiable but not entirely free of mischief.
“ ‘All of us got clues about our future husbands—’ ”
Maud stood up and tried to snatch the paper from his hand, at which point he smiled and handed it to her.
“ ‘Except for Maud. The knocks and raps entirely ceased when we asked about her future husband.’ ” He was now reciting from memory. “ ‘I should think that the spirits were more terrified of her than she was of them!’ ”
Maud’s temper was about to erupt. How could Josie have written to him about the séance? This was certainly not going the way she had expected it to.
“ ‘And then,’ ” he continued, still reciting from memory, “ ‘a tree branch started rapping on the window, and it spelled out the letter F.’ ”
Maud wished she could back up to the beginning of this entire meeting and start over. Every time he looked at her, she felt like a loud whirring sound started up in her ears, as though their entire conversation were taking place in a railroad car.
“So, ever since,” Frank concluded, “I’ve been dying to meet you. I wanted to meet a young woman of whom the very spirits are terrified!”
By this point Maud was certain that he was teasing her, even if she couldn’t read it in his expression.
“The spirits are not terrified of me,” Maud said. “Nor I of them. I don’t believe in spirits.”
Appearing amused by this proclamation, the gentleman just stroked his generous moustache with the tip of one slender index finger and said nothing.
Maud was growing frustrated, but she was determined to be cordial, at least for Josie’s sake, so she tried again: “So, tell me, Mr. Baum. What line of work are you in?”
“Actor,” he said. “Director, stage manager. Oh, and writer. Perhaps writer should go first. I’m the principal everything in the Baum Theatre Company. It’s a small company. We travel from town to town putting on our shows. It’s a vagabond’s life, but I couldn’t ask for anything more.”
“Oh,” Maud said. “I don’t know the first thing about theater. How does one go about becoming a theatrical man?”
“Well, I wasn’t fit for anything else,” Frank answered, his eyes crinkling up into a smile. “Not a whit of business sense, I’m afraid—unless that business is magic.”
“Magic?”
His eyes lit up. He spread his arms wide, as if, with his long, tapered fingers, he could cast spells right in front of her.
“Isn’t that what the theater is? You conjure up something out of nothing—you build a whole world from the ground up out of nothing but the images that dance around in your mind. Nothing like it. As to how I got started, my father built a theater for me—down in the oil country. I’m not ashamed to admit I was the beneficiary of his extraordinary largesse—but the plays are all mine. I do it all: the acting, the songwriting, the dancing. I even use the latest fandangos to rig up the sets. But it’s all in the service of the spellbinding, transformative, elusive, otherworldly quest for magic. That’s why I was so eager to meet you, Miss Baum.” He peered into her eyes. “So few young ladies seem interested in this kind of thing. And here is my own cousin’s friend leading a séance—you must be a most intrepid individual.”
His discourse was so odd that Maud was not sure what to make of it, and yet there was something in his manner that had captured her fancy.
“I hate to disappoint you, but I’m not afraid of spirits because I don’t believe in them—not because I’m so intrepid. Although, I daresay, I’m not easily scared.”
Frank was gazing at her with much interest. “You’re not afraid of anything?”
“Well…I didn’t say I wasn’t afraid of anything. I don’t care for scarecrows—and I can’t abide to be teased. Because I lose my temper. I guess I’m a bit afraid of my own temper.”
“Scarecrows?” Frank asked as if this was the most wondrously fantastic statement he had ever heard. “Why don’t you like scarecrows? They can hardly scare a crow—much less a person. Why, I’ve seen scarecrows who were so friendly with crows that they seemed to invite them into the cornfield for company!”
Maud tried in vain to suppress a smile before she burst out laughing. “Our neighbors had a scarecrow in their yard. I could see him from my bedroom window, and I was convinced that he was going to climb down off his perch and come after me!” she admitted.
“You must have been something as a young girl!” Frank said. “I wish I had known you then.”
“Oh, you would have despised me,” Maud blurted out. “I was a terrible tomboy—my mother let me run around in my brother’s cast-off short pants. I climbed trees and shot marbles…the boys teased me, and so did the girls!”
Frank laughed and leaned closer. “I’m certain I would never have despised you!” he said.
“I’m so glad that you two are getting to know each other.” Only now did Maud notice that Frank’s aunt Josephine Baum had been hovering nearby, seeing how the matchmaking was going.
“Miss Gage was just telling me she’s not fond of scarecrows,” Frank said genially. “While I’m rather partial to them—the straw men and I have had some pleasant conversations through the years.”
Josephine beamed at her nephew. “Frank does say the most unusual things, doesn’t he? Why, I could listen to him all day. One time, we were driving to Onondaga and the whole way he told me a story about the horse who was pulling the buggy. He was just an old nag, but the way Frank told it, he had an entire life story. Remember that, Frank dear? You called him Jim the Cab Horse? You had us in stitches. Oh, I wish I could have remembered it so I could have told it to other people…”
Frank laughed. “I don’t remember Jim the Cab Horse, Auntie, but I’ve found that most cab horses have quite a lot to say. They’ve got interesting lives, you know. They travel all over the place, seeing all kinds of things.”
“Oh, Frank.” His aunt smiled indulgently. “Always so fanciful. Come on into the dining room,” she said to both of them. “We’re about to serve dinner now.”
A crimson damask tablecloth covered the table, and the place settings gleamed with silver. A goose, its golden skin crackling, was at the table’s center. There was a silver tureen of oyster soup and fluffy mashed potatoes, two kinds of pudding and a beautiful mince pie. But Maud could scarcely eat. She was seated at the far end of the table, where she tried to keep herself from throwing glances toward Mr. Baum. She was hoping to have a chance to speak to him again after dinner, but then she saw him excuse himself just as the dinner was ending.
“I’m so sorry to leave early,” he said to the assembled group. “But the snow is coming down hard. I need to go now, before it gets too deep for my buggy to pass.”
He hurried out of the dining room with a genial wave but didn’t even glance in Maud’s direction. Maud followed him with her eyes, and felt her face freeze. The meeting had clearly been a failure.
The plates were cleared and the group had moved back to the piano when Maud looked up and saw Frank, now dressed in his hat and topcoat, in the doorway, a sprinkling of snow whitening his shoulders. He beckoned to her. Maud looked around. No one was watching.
Extricating herself from the group, she passed into the front foyer. “I thought you had already left,” she whispered.
“I couldn’t leave without speaking to you again,” he said.
Maud’s heart beat faster.
“I want to call on you. Tomorrow? The day after? Next week?”
“Tomorrow is Christmas Day. You can’t come tomorrow!”
“I have to return to Pennsylvania with my theater company on New Year’s Day.”
“I’m going back to school then. I won’t be home until March.” She tried to sound as if she didn’t care.
“I want to call on you,” he repeated, then turned his head at the sound of harness bells in the street outside. “Please. I have to go—my horse is getting restless. I’m sorry to leave so suddenly like this. Please, I want to call on you before you return to Ithaca. May I?”
Maud tried to say no but found herself nodding. His face unfolded into a brilliant smile, and then tipping his hat, he opened the door and disappeared into the falling snow.
MAUD WOULD RETURN TO Fayetteville early in the morning to celebrate Christmas at home, but tonight, she was staying over at Josie’s. Upstairs, after the guests had left, the two girls helped each other unbutton their Christmas dresses, unlace their corsets, and unpin their hair. At last unfettered in their loose nightgowns, they lay down next to each other in the bed.
“So, what did you think of him?” Josie asked.
Maud was flustered, for once not knowing what to say. With his talk of chatty cab horses and friendly scarecrows and magic, he seemed more than anything to be a bit strange—and yet, her memory of his face, his slow smile and steady gray eyes, seemed to float in front of her even now.
“I don’t know. Yes, no, I’m not sure,” Maud answered. “I don’t know what happened to me. I couldn’t seem to carry on any kind of sensible conversation with him.”
“Oh, Frank always says the oddest things, doesn’t he? I always thought you’d go together. You’re both so different from other people!”
“In any case, I’m not looking for a beau,” Maud said. “And I’m sure he didn’t like me anyway.”
The girls lay in companionable silence for a few minutes. “He did have a nice smile,” Maud said. She heard Josie breathe a contented sigh.
“I knew it!” she said.
ON THE THURSDAY FOLLOWING Christmas, the Carpenter family, distant cousins on Matilda’s side, were coming to call. Julia whispered to Maud that among the visitors would be her secret beau, Mr. James Carpenter. Color high and eyes shining, Julia put on her Black Watch plaid with the deep blue velvet trim. Maud worked on Julia’s hair, coiling her long braid with pins to her crown, covering her ears, then smoothed the frizzy flyaways and pulled a few tendrils loose, to frame her face.
“You look beautiful!” Maud whispered.
Julia patted her hair nervously, her cheeks flushed pink. “Oh, no…I know I’m plain…” She looked anxiously in the mirror, tugging at the waistband of her dress. “I would have made a good schoolteacher, if I hadn’t suffered so from nerves.”
“Don’t say that,” Maud remonstrated. This was a familiar topic, and one that grated on Maud. She did not find her sister plain—she was petite in stature and had blunt features, but her hazel eyes sparkled with wit, and her tawny hair was beautiful. Mother had always had a plan for Julia. She would study to become a schoolteacher. But Julia, smart and bookish as she was, was not well-fitted for higher education. Her studies had been too much for her. Julia was content in the home, but Maud hated how Mother bossed her sister around. Today, Julia looked beautiful, Maud genuinely thought, and she was expecting a visit from her beau. She pinched her sister’s cheeks to pinken them, then slipped her arm around Julia’s waist and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
Mr. James Carpenter was thin and knobby, with a baby face that made him look even younger than his years. Maud could not help but draw an immediate comparison between this young man and the one she’d met the previous week. Whereas Frank Baum’s eyes had been warm and lively, Maud found something slightly unsettling about James Carpenter’s demeanor. At first she couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but after seeing him return to the rum punch several times, she realized that he was intoxicated.
She was seated on one of the divans in the parlor, next to Julia, when he made his way toward them.
“You are studying at the university?” His manner seemed not completely friendly.
“I am,” Maud replied. “I’m taking a degree in literature.”
The young man seemed to have no reply for this, and an awkward silence followed. “And what about you? What line of work are you in?” Maud asked, trying to be polite.
“I intend to explore the field of agricultural cultivation,” he said grandly. “I am currently amassing the necessary funds,” he added. “I plan to depart for Dakota Territory within the year.”
Without so much as a tip of the head, he spun on his heel and walked away.
“What do you think of him?” Julia whispered.
“Well, I’m not sure,” Maud said. “We’ve only just met. But I think he’s rather abrupt—and very young!”
Julia frowned. “He’s not abrupt. Just ambitious! He has such a fire in him. I’m sure he’ll make a success in Dakota.”
“I think his passion leans more toward the rum punch,” Maud muttered, but Julia did not appear to hear. She was following his form as he cut across the room.
“He’s very handsome, don’t you think?”
Maud was mystified that her sister could be smitten with this young man—still wet behind his ears, and not at all pleasant in his manner. But she did not want to hurt her feelings, so she simply murmured her assent.
Maud soon grew weary of the visitors and wished nothing more than to go upstairs to her room, change into a loose house dress, and read a book. At least in the henhouse she could retreat into the solitude of the library. Here at home, she was constantly forced to dress up and chatter with people who seemed dreadfully dull to her. From time to time, her thoughts floated to the strange young man with the gray eyes.
He must be waiting to see if he would receive an invitation to call at the Gage home. Maud knew that he could not come to visit unless invited—and if Matilda invited him, Maud would be signaling her interest in him. But Maud had not yet figured out a way to speak to Matilda about this. If she told her mother that she wished to receive a visit from Frank Baum, then her mother would no doubt besiege her with a lecture about focusing on her studies instead of on young men. She was so fixated on Maud’s diploma that sometimes it seemed as if she wanted it for herself.
Maud was so lost in her thoughts that she barely registered that her mother had approached her.
“Maud?” she said. “Can you please help me out for a moment?” She held a piece of twine with a large iron key suspended on it.
“Of course, Mother.”
“Would you fetch a gallon of cider from the cool storeroom? Cook is busy stirring the custard and can’t leave the stove.”
Maud nodded, pleased to have something to do besides sit like a lump in the middle of the convivial guests.
James Carpenter was leaning up against the wall near the window, speaking with Julia, but Maud had the uncomfortable sensation that his eyes were upon her as she passed.
Maud entered the kitchen, where Mary O’Meara, the Irish cook, was standing in front of the stove. Maud passed out of the kitchen and into the hallway that connected to the back storeroom. The iron key was tricky to insert into the lock; Maud was fiddling with it when she felt a presence.
“Can I give you a hand, Miss Gage?”
Startled, she dropped the key, which clattered on the brick floor. She turned to see James Carpenter standing directly behind her.
He bent down and scooped up the iron key, bending uncomfortably close as he inserted it into the lock. With a click, the door swung open, releasing a puff of colder air scented with potatoes, carrots, and straw.
“I heard your mother say that you needed to retrieve something for her, and I thought I could help you carry it.” His tone was ingratiating, but his fleshy pink lips hung slack, and she could not bring herself to meet his eyes. Just inside the hallway, she was only steps away from the cozy kitchen filled with the warm scents of vanilla, sugar, and scalding milk, but she had closed the door behind herself to keep the chill from the kitchen, and she saw that in following her, he had done the same. Hadn’t anyone noticed? Certainly someone would have thought that it was odd and overly familiar for a guest to follow her into the narrow hallway. But as Maud had passed through the kitchen, Mary had been concentrating on her stirring.
“Thank you kindly, Mr. Carpenter, but I’m not in the least in need of assistance,” Maud said, her voice firm. “I suggest that you return to the party. Everyone will be wondering where you have gotten to.”
Keeping her eyes averted, she turned and walked through the open door into the cold storage room, passing quickly across the small dark space to the shelf where the fresh jugs of cider were kept. Behind her, the storeroom door clicked shut. The room plunged into total blackness. Inside the confined space, Maud heard breathing, and she realized he had entered behind her. She turned to face toward him, backing up slowly as her eyes adjusted to the darkness.
“I am not in need of your assistance.” Maud couldn’t hide a slight quaver in her voice.
“I’m just here to help a pretty girl.” He took a step forward.
“Please leave!”
He barked a laugh. “I would think you are used to being alone with men, as a coed…”
Maud’s eyes had adjusted to the dim light leaking in around the hallway door. She picked up the heavy earthenware jug and assessed the distance she had to cross to reach the exit. The room was narrow, and she wasn’t sure she could dart to either side of him. She took a small step forward, hoping that he would move aside, but instead he stepped toward her.
“Pray, Mr. Carpenter, leave me alone and return to the house,” Maud said. “I do not need your assistance.”
His laugh had an edge of rum punch in it. “Ah, Miss Maud Gage, daughter of the famous suffragette. Perhaps I’d prefer to stay and enjoy your company!” He lurched toward her.
Without thinking, Maud pitched the heavy jug as hard as she could. It caught him on the chin, sending him reeling a step back before it shattered on the bricks. Maud seized the opportunity, rushed past him, and pushed open the heavy door. She plunged with relief into the cool back hallway, and in moments she was standing in the kitchen, where she found Matilda gazing at her reproachfully.
“It’s taken you so long, and you’ve come back empty-handed?” Matilda said.
Maud was flustered, grasping for words to describe what had just happened.
“Your dress is all wet!” Matilda said.
“I’m sorry, Mother—I dropped the jug, and the cider splattered.”
At that exact moment, James Carpenter stepped into the kitchen with a heavy jug of cider in each hand.
“Here you go, Mrs. Gage,” he said. “I was just giving Miss Gage a hand.”
Matilda looked mystified.
“Why, Mr. Carpenter, I believe you’ve hurt yourself,” she said.
He set the jugs on the counter, rubbed his chin with one hand, and looked startled to see the blood on his fingers.
“I must have cut myself leaning over to pick up the jugs.” He caught Maud’s eye as he said this, as if daring her to call his bluff.
Maud was gathering her wits to respond when Matilda said, “Maudie darling, why don’t you run along upstairs so you can change?”
Maud narrowed her eyes and glared at James, hoping to communicate that her choice to say nothing would in no way let him off the hook. But James slunk out of the kitchen, avoiding her gaze. Blinking back tears, Maud cut through the crowded parlor and hurried up the stairs. In her bedroom, she took off her cider-stained dress, unlaced her corset, and threw herself on her bed. She had decided not to return to the party.
After some time, she heard the tinkle of crockery and the tread of footsteps in the hallway, and Julia came in, carrying a tray of warm custard and chamomile tea. Afraid that her sister would subject her to an interrogation, Maud picked up her novel and began to read. She hoped that Julia would recognize that she was hiding something. She had yet to figure out a way to broach this painful subject with her sister.
Julia sat on the edge of her bed, and when Maud looked up, a soft smile lit up her sister’s face. From beneath the fold of her skirt, she pulled out her left hand, revealing that a thin band of gold now crossed her fourth finger.
Maud stared at the ring in horror.
“Julia? What have you done?”
“What have I done?” Julia blanched.
“Have you thought this through? I’m not sure this is wise.”
Her sister’s eyes glinted, now with an edge of defiance.
“Your best wishes are welcome. I’m not interested in your opinions.”
THE NEXT AFTERNOON, MAUD TRIED once again to speak to Julia, when she found her alone in the front parlor.
“Sister, are you absolutely certain? Do you know enough about this young man’s character?”
Julia sighed and clasped her hands in her lap, silently spinning the gold band around and around on her finger.
“How can we know the future?” Julia said. “All I know is what my life is like now. I desire to escape it.” She looked Maud straight in the eye. “I’ve made up my mind, sister. I don’t wish to speak of this matter ever again.”
Matilda sat in her study, facing away from Maud, her watercolors arrayed in a brilliant palette in front of her. A half-finished painting of a vase full of forget-me-nots stood before her.
“Might I have a word with you, Mother?” Maud asked.
Matilda turned around, greeting her with a distracted air.
“What is it, Maud?”
“In the matter of Mr. James Carpenter…do you not have any reservations?”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“He is closer to my age than Julia’s,” Maud began, trying to decide how best to articulate her reservations. “He seems—”
Matilda sighed, and Maud noticed the violet blotches that encircled her mother’s eyes. Matilda was tireless, indefatigable, the author of books and speeches, the ruler of the household, the person on whom all responsibilities lay, from watching over the cooking to educating her children to saving the fate of all womankind. Maud always thought of her mother as entirely invincible, but here, in this quiet moment, Maud got a glimpse of the fact that Mother needed a rest sometimes, too.
“He has ambition, and he appears to be in good health. Would you really let the matter of age interfere in your sister’s happiness? Most women marry men old enough to be their own fathers and then end up caring for the cranky and querulous men in their old age, only to find themselves widowed and obliged to move in with their children for relief.”
Maud had certainly observed that this was true, even in her own family. Papa’s bouts of fever confined him to bed more and more often, leaving Mother to shoulder the family’s burdens alone, and though she wrote her fingers to the bone, and talked often of royalties, money never seemed to follow. Her mother’s closest allies in the suffrage movement faced no such difficulties. Matilda, Auntie Susan, and Mrs. Stanton were writing a series of books together, a multivolume history of the women’s suffrage movement. They’d been working on it for years, and, frankly, Mother did most of the work. Auntie Susan said that she could think but she couldn’t write, and Mrs. Stanton was often too busy to help. Maud could not avoid noticing the differences in their circumstances. Auntie Susan, a single woman with no children, made large sums of money giving speeches, and Mrs. Stanton was a wealthy woman who traveled to and from the Continent without a care. But Mother had to manage the family and its finances, her own work, and all her work for the movement without much help.
“I’m getting older,” Matilda said. “It would be a help if Julia were situated….I’m sure you realize that she has not had the prospects that you have had.”
“It’s better for her to stay at home than to be married to the wrong man. How many times have you said that yourself?”
“But what possible evidence do you have against this young man?” Matilda asked. “If you have something to say, please speak your piece now.”
Maud opened her mouth, intending to tell her mother about the incident in the storeroom, but before she spoke, she thought of her sister’s face: her defiant expression, her certainty that she was making the right decision. What right had Maud to set Mother against Julia? Since the day Julia had quit her studies, Mother had never treated her the same. The great Matilda Joslyn Gage was impatient of weakness, intolerant of those who lacked resolve in the fight. Maud was certain that Matilda, had she been born a boy, would have taken up arms to fight for the Union, stood on the battlefield, faced down the cannons and artillery, and spurred on her comrades to fear not in the face of the fight. Alas, Mother had had to content herself handing out flags and giving speeches—cajoling the young men of her generation to fight against the evil scourge of slavery. Her battlefield was her own home, her daughters her soldiers. Julia, in Mother’s view, was a deserter to the great cause of women’s emancipation. And Maud knew that this was a heavy cross for her sister to bear. Maud balled her hands into fists in the folds of her skirt, blinked, swallowed, and decided, after all, to say nothing.
“Speak up, Maud. Do you have something to say?”
Instead of speaking of her sister’s situation, could she not be courageous on her own behalf?
“Maudie?”
“I do have something to say, Mother, but it’s on another matter.”
“Your studies?” Matilda said, suddenly eager. “Have you chosen your field of concentration?”
“Not my studies, Mother. Believe it or not, I do think of other things from time to time.”
Matilda frowned, but then immediately softened. “Of course, my dear. What is it that you want?”
“I’d like to receive Josie’s cousin Frank Baum. Can you please invite him?”
Matilda’s forehead wrinkled slightly. “Josie’s cousin Frank Baum—is that Benjamin Baum’s son, the proprietor of the Rose Lawn estate in Mattydale?”
Maud nodded encouragingly. “Yes, the very one. He’s Josie Baum’s first cousin.”
“I understand that the Baums’ business concerns have considerably dwindled…”
“I know nothing about that,” Maud said.
“And what line of work is the young man in?”
“He is an actor,” Maud said. “And a playwright.”
Matilda paused reflectively.
“You return to Cornell in two days. I think it would be best if you continue your studies for now without the distraction of a visit from a young man—especially one in such a flighty and unstable profession. First, for you, a diploma, and second, a learned man. You deserve no less.”
Matilda, certain that their interview was finished, turned her back to Maud and dipped her paintbrush into the small pot of water, carefully dabbing it against the pot’s side.
“But, Mother!” Maud said.
“We’ll see about it later,” Matilda said. “Perhaps once the school year has ended.”
“But, Mother!” Maud protested again. “That is months from now. Perhaps he will have forgotten me by then.”
“And perhaps you will have forgotten him by then as well. I see little point in pursuing this. He seems like an entirely unsuitable match.”
Maud could read the set of her mother’s shoulders. She would engage in no further discussion.
Maud’s thoughts kept circling back to the rushed conversation in the hallway at Josie’s house—he had pleaded for an invitation. How would he respond to this silence? Most likely, he would simply move on, and their brief meeting would be forgotten.
By the time her school vacation had come to an end, Maud could hardly wait to return to Cornell. In spite of the difficulties she had faced there, in comparison, home had come to seem stifling and intolerable. And perhaps Josie would have some news of Frank Baum.