—
BY MID-MAY THE WEATHER was humid and stifling. Inside a run-down theater in a small town near Akron, the cool of the morning had turned to a suffocating torpor by midday. They were getting set to start performing a new play, called Matches. Frank was convinced that it would be an even bigger hit than The Maid of Arran. Maud watched as he rehearsed the scenes and signaled the piano player to start and restart, start and restart. Frank never quit. He was as eager to try a line the fortieth time as the first.
Inside the close theater, Maud was starting to feel dizzy, so she went outside, hoping to find cooler air. Out front stood an exhausted-looking pair of black geldings hitched to a jitney.
Maud looked at the poor beasts with sympathy. There was not a hint of shade on the street. Just then, one of the nags lifted his tail, and the sharp scent of manure waved over her. The street turned first white, then fuzzy, then gray.
She felt a cool cloth on her forehead and looked up to see Frank’s anxious face peering down at her.
“What happened?”
“Don’t you remember?”
“I went outside to get a breath of fresh air, and then…”
“Ya keeled right over like an oak struck by lightning,” a dusty-looking fellow wearing a livery driver’s uniform said. “I was standing by my horses, when I seen you come out. Went white as a sheet, and toppled.”
“I fainted?”
“It was so hot in the theater…” Frank said.
Maud sat up. “Thank goodness Mother wasn’t here to see that! She has no patience with fainters.”
“Here, darling. Take some cool water.”
Maud took a sip, and then a long draft. “I guess it was the heat.”
That night was the debut of Matches. After sunset, the heat hardly abated, and inside, the theater was a hot box. The house was only half full, and the laughs were sparse. Some of the people walked out in the middle of the first act, but Maud assured Frank that it was only due to the temperature. Back in their hotel room later, Frank continued to fret about the poor reception.
“Did you think people liked it?”
“Oh yes,” Maud said. “It was splendid. Everyone loved it!”
“We’re going to take it on the road, maybe all the way back to Broadway!”
Maud knew it was time to tell him the truth. In spite of following Matilda’s instructions with the lacquered box to the letter, every morning for the past month, she had awoken queasy and could scarcely nibble at her food. She reached out and pulled his hands into hers, rubbing her thumbs across their bony ridges, but not meeting his eyes.
Releasing one hand from her grasp, he tipped her chin up gently with his thumb. “What is it, darling?”
“We’re going to have a child.”
She watched as his face drained of color, then turned bright red, and he flung his arms around her, almost knocking her over.
“Are you sure? Are you quite sure?” Frank leapt out of his chair.
“I’m sure.”
“This is the happiest day of my life!”
“We will have another mouth to feed.”
“And feed him we shall!” Frank said. “Fresh oranges and marbled cuts of meat, seven-layer cakes and pumpkin puddings—”
Maud put her hand over her mouth as she felt her stomach heave. “Please, no more,” she whispered.
“All right then,” Frank said, putting one arm around Maud and gently easing her to sit on the edge of the bed. “Our child shall have milk toast and chamomile tea….Is that better?” he asked worriedly.
Maud smiled weakly. “A cup of tea would be nice,” she said.
* * *
—
THE SKY WAS LOW and close, and a heavy rain poured down outside the train station in Dayton, Ohio. The train had disgorged them into an empty street where not a single cabby and pair awaited.
Maud had already let out her traveling dress three times, and still it felt tight across her midsection. She was shivering from the cold and faint with hunger—she’d had nothing to eat but a cup of tea and stale cake at the depot in Columbus. A problem on the tracks had delayed their train for several hours. They had expected to arrive before sunset; now it was close to midnight, and the street outside the depot was deserted and dark. The rest of the troupe had stayed behind to pack up the sets and would meet them the following day. Frank held a folded newspaper over their heads to shelter them from the rain, but the paper was already sodden, and the cold rain was soaking through her cloth coat and running down the back of her neck.
“Go back and wait inside the depot,” Frank said. “I’ll walk up the street a bit and see if I can find a place to lodge.”
“No, darling, I’ll come with you.” She had noticed the collection of drunks and ne’er-do-wells clustered on the benches inside. She preferred that they stick together. The streetlights had already been extinguished, and there was no obvious clue which way to turn—Frank looked up and down the street before he picked a direction, seemingly at random, and headed that way, carrying their two suitcases, at a fast clip. Maud held up her skirts, but her feet were soon soaked through. Her back ached from sitting so long in the train, and her bladder was so full she knew she needed to find a water closet soon.
“Well, here it is!” Frank said, in a tone of utter delight. Maud saw that he was pointing to a theater marquee; the sign said, MAJESTIC THEATER.
Though it was dark, Maud could make out the letters. She saw the name of an acting troupe and a play spelled out, and it was not their own.
“Let’s duck inside,” Frank said. “Someone will be able to tell us where to find lodgings.”
The front doors were bolted shut, so they passed into a back alley, where a black cat startled Maud as it leapt out from behind a stack of wooden crates. The narrow way was putrid with the scent of rotting garbage and effluent, and there was no way to avoid the puddles. Bile rose up in her throat.
Now, thoroughly soaked, she stood beside Frank, shivering, feeling the life inside her kicking up a fuss, as if to say, Get out of this cold rain!
Frank tried the stage door. Finding it locked, he first knocked, then rapped loudly, then finally located the string that allowed him to pull the bell. After a long time, the sound of locks turning was audible and the door opened a crack before the chain stopped it from swinging farther. The pale face of a wizened old man peered through the gap, his face illuminated by the light of a single candle.
“Whatcha want?”
“Please, kind sir,” Frank said, his voice friendly, “can you open up so that we can conduct this conversation out of the rain?”
“State your business,” he said. “I’m not opening the door to no vagrants, no matter if cats and dogs is raining down from the heavens. This here is a cutthroat environ, and I prefer to keep my throat uncut.”
“Oh no, dear sir, we are not throat cutters, we are actors! I’m Frank Baum, and this is my wife, Maud. We are here for our run of Matches, but our train was delayed and we arrived at the train station so late that all of the hacks were departed. If you’ll just let us inside for a moment, we’ll explain ourselves further.”
“Matches,” the man said suspiciously. “That’s the one that wasn’t selling tickets. Your run was canceled. Did you get the letter? You’d best get back on that train. We’ve got nothing for you here.”
“Open the door and let us in,” Maud said. “I am the manager, and I need to speak to the theater director. We will sit here until morning if necessary.” Maud spoke confidently, hiding the tremor in her voice.
“Skedaddle!” the man said. “You’re not wanted here!” With that, the door clicked shut in their faces, and Frank and Maud found themselves alone again in the dark alley.
“Oh!” Maud cried out. She felt something under her skirt, wrapping itself around her leg. She jumped, flinging her sodden skirts up and down, and the black cat emerged from under her petticoat and sped off down the alley, disappearing from sight.
Frank wrapped his arms around her for a brief second before picking up the suitcases and leading the way back out of the fetid alley, onto the wet, lonely street.