THE DAYS THAT FOLLOWED were agonizing—a confusing mixture of distress and joy. Giddily she reimagined the kiss—a sensation so sweet that she’d never before been able to imagine its full flavor. But each recall was swiftly followed by remorse as she remembered how cavalier she had been—consenting to ride alone with him, allowing his caress—and wondered what he now thought about her. She read in his hasty departure an indication that he would most likely shun her now, but then she remembered the way he’d lingered over their last hand clasp, as if he had been reluctant to go. By the week’s end, Maud had convinced herself: he would turn out to be just like other men, interested in Maud only as long as her free spirit was not revealed, no longer interested now that he’d understood what she was really like. And yet, in spite of all that, she had no regrets.
But the following Sunday, Frank’s jaunty knock sounded on the door at the usual hour, and this time, he invited both Maud and Julia to go for a ride. The following Sunday, he arrived with a home-baked cherry pie and enticed Mother to join them in the parlor, where he actually got her laughing with his stories. After their secret jaunt and stolen kiss, his manner toward Maud had certainly not grown colder. And for her own part, Maud found that her longing to see him had only grown stronger, the days between his visits dragging past. She had begun to count with dread the number of Sundays between now and the day she would have to return to Cornell. Frank never raised the subject of her imminent departure; nor did she, unwilling to even touch upon the painful prospect of their upcoming separation.
One Sunday in the middle of August, just two weeks before her fall semester was to start, Frank began telling Maud a long, complicated story about one of the actors, who had gotten into a scrape and ended up fleeing his boardinghouse in nothing but his underwear. The story bordered on inappropriate, but Maud was listening without blushing when out of the blue, he leaned in very close, appeared to pause to monitor the sound of her mother’s active pen, and whispered to Maud, “We’re going to be married. Don’t say no, as I will simply protest until you accept.”
“I’ll do as I please,” Maud snapped, almost as a reflex.
Frank brushed his moustache with his thumb and forefinger, eyes twinkling. “Of that, I’ve no doubt.”
Maud forged on bravely: “I won’t let you or anyone else order me about or tell me what to do!” She watched him uncertainly, wondering how he would react to her sharp words. Would he withdraw his proposal immediately? At that exact moment, Maud realized just how much she didn’t want him to. But to her relief, he just laughed softly, reached out, and squeezed her hand.
“I wouldn’t dare order you about,” Frank said. “And I don’t want you to quit Cornell. We’ll wait until you graduate—I would be very lucky to have an educated wife.”
“That’s what everyone wants.” Maud pouted. “For me to be educated.”
Frank was studying her anxiously, leaning closer.
“If I have to,” Frank said, “I’ll give up the theater. I’ll settle down and find a more respectable line of work.”
“No, Frank! You can’t give up the theater,” Maud said in a rush. “It’s the love of your heart!”
“I do love the theater! But you are the love of my heart. I don’t want to choose, but if I have to, I’ll choose you. I know, you don’t have to tell me that your mother does not want her daughter to marry a man with nothing but sawdust and pins and needles in his head.”
“Pins and needles?”
He leaned closer again. “To prove that I’m sharp.”
Maud giggled. “I know lots of fellows at Cornell. They may be chasing diplomas, but many of them are fools. They are not clever enough to invent whole new worlds, as you do. Don’t quit the theater—that would be like chopping off one of your hands! Why couldn’t I come with you?”
“My life is just a series of departures,” he said. “We pack up and leave, a new town every few days. It’s a wonderful routine, but not for a typical woman. No one knows you. You live your life among strangers.”
“You think I’m a typical woman?” Maud asked seriously. “My notoriety trails me as stubbornly as a severe case of lice.”
Frank laughed aloud. “I’m open about the time frame, but not about the answer,” he said.
“And how exactly do you intend to compel me?” Maud said archly.
“Not by force,” Frank answered. “By power of persuasion.”
Maud thought of a million words of protest, but instead she blurted out, “I’m persuaded, Mr. Frank Baum. In spite of my best intentions, I’m persuaded.”
* * *
—
MATILDA WAS, AS USUAL, so intent on her writing that when Maud stepped through the doorway to her study, at first she didn’t even look up. When she did at last, for a moment her gaze was miles away.
“What is it, dear?” Matilda said absentmindedly, turning back to her notebook and jotting down a few more words. Maud waited for her mother to finish, knowing that she needed Matilda’s full attention.
“Do you need something?” Matilda asked a full minute later, when she looked up from her writing again. Outside the window, Maud could see her mother’s daylilies blooming in the garden.
“Mother, I have something I need to tell you. Frank has proposed marriage, and I’ve accepted. We’d like to be married as soon as possible.”
Matilda flew to her feet so quickly that she knocked over her chair. Trying to stay calm, Maud bent over to right it.
“What ever can you mean? You can’t give up on your education—I will not have my daughter be a darned fool and marry an actor!”
Maud had pictured that she might someday need to have this conversation with her mother. She had imagined so many words of protest from her mother—she had imagined the various ways her mother might admonish or cajole her to finish her degree—and, even worse, she had imagined the look of crushing disappointment that might come over her mother’s features. But she had not imagined that her mother would take this aggressive tone with her—nor that she would attack Frank, the love of her life.
“Well then, Mother, I suppose you won’t be seeing me anymore!”
Matilda stared, her expression severe. “What are you saying, Maud?”
“Well, I intend to marry Frank, and I’m sure you wouldn’t want a darned fool around the house, so I guess you won’t be seeing me anymore.”
Maud kept her eyes fixed directly on her mother’s. Matilda stared back, brows knit together in a tight line, until, slowly, Maud started to see signs of laughter playing around her mouth and eyes.
“Well, I guess I taught you to be independent!” she said.
Maud threw her arms around her mother so vigorously that Matilda lost her balance and landed back in her desk chair, Maud almost collapsing on top of her.
“No diploma?”
Maud shook her head. “I’m sorry, Mother. It’s just not what I want.”
A single crease appeared between Matilda’s brows and her eyes clouded, but to her credit, she smiled, stood up, and grasped Maud’s hands in hers. “Well, you won’t obey me, so don’t go obeying him, either…”
She cupped her hand under Maud’s chin. “Marriage is serious business. A woman submits herself to a million indignities when she marries, and only a man’s own rectitude can protect her. She has so few protections under the law.”
“Mother, Frank is a good man, and I’m no fool. Please don’t worry about us—just give us your blessing if you’re so inclined.”
“I’m not inclined,” Matilda said. “But I can see you’ve set your mind to it, so consider yourself blessed.”
* * *
—
A FEW DAYS BEFORE the wedding, Maud’s mother came into her bedroom carrying a parcel wrapped in brown paper. She shut the door.
“It’s time for us to have a small discussion,” Matilda said, settling herself on the edge of the bed.
Maud unwrapped the paper and found a small book entitled A Woman’s Companion. She looked up at her mother. “What is this?”
“I’m not surprised you’ve never seen it before. Mr. Anthony Comstock, the United States postal director and, I might add, a vehement anti-suffragist, has outlawed this useful book, and others like it. He’s made it a crime to send this kind of information through the mail. But within its pages you will find the secret of how to limit your family size.”
From her skirt pocket, she extracted a small lacquered box. Inside was a round sponge, about two inches in diameter. Attached was a piece of silken thread.
“Soak it in carbolic acid,” Matilda said. “Enter it inside your womanhood and push it all the way against the mouth of the womb. When you are finished, you can extract it by pulling on the thread.”
Maud stared at the small sponge with a mixture of queasiness and fascination.
“Will it work?”
“Applied diligently, it may delay—but nothing prevents,” Matilda said, “except abstaining from a man’s embrace.”
“But, Mother…!”
Matilda held a finger up to her lips. “Say no more. Children are a blessing, but God has given us a brain, and we are not prevented from using it to help us organize our lives.”
* * *