In September 1888, Frank, Maud, and the two boys arrived in Aberdeen, Dakota Territory, on the Chicago, Milwaukee & St. Paul Railway. The tracks had arrived in Aberdeen just five years earlier, sparking the fast growth of the town. In this flat land, set upon a plain that had once been a prehistoric lake, the horizon was a distant line and the earth seemed swallowed by the sky. When the railroad first arrived, Aberdeen had fewer than one hundred residents. But Maud peered out the window at a town that had grown to a population of three thousand settlers and an economy that had burgeoned with the business the railroad brought, and several years of bumper wheat crops.
It was a fine sunny day with wispy white clouds floating far overhead as they climbed into T.C.’s rig. He settled their traps in back, and soon they were passing along a crowded street.
“That’s the Northwestern National Bank,” T.C. said, pointing out a large brick structure still under construction. “When it’s finished, it will be the tallest building west of St. Paul.”
Frank nodded approvingly.
“And as you can see, there are several empty storefronts along Main Street for rent,” T.C. went on. “I’m sure you’ll find a good spot to locate your dry-goods store.”
“Bazaar,” Frank said.
“I beg your pardon?” T.C. looked puzzled.
“Baum’s Bazaar,” Frank said. “That’s what I’m aiming to call it. And it will be no ordinary dry-goods concern. I’m planning much more of an emporium.”
Maud smiled as she listened to her husband’s good cheer. He’d borrowed from a few friends, scraped together some savings, and was going to enter the business of shopkeeping, but, as usual, Frank had a way of making the mundane sound spectacular.
The main street of Aberdeen surprised Maud, flanked with an improbable mix of weighty brick establishments and spindly frame-built storefronts that looked as if they might be about to blow away. With the train depot firmly anchoring one end, the commercial hub of the town was crowded with people and horse-drawn wagons, but just beyond the end of the busy thoroughfare lay a flat unbroken expanse of wavy grass extending as far as the eye could see. The sky, more prominent than any of the buildings, seemed to have a personality of its own—now blue, now gray, and now a startling pink and orange. From a distance, the prairie appeared to be a study in monochrome muted greens, but up close it burst with yucca flowers, blue sage, and butterflies. Something about this juxtaposition, this showboating rendered so tiny and insignificant by God’s majesty, brought a smile to Maud’s lips. Her first unguarded impression of Aberdeen, Dakota Territory, was that the town was nothing more than a vaunted practical joke—man’s attempt to put his mark on something so vast, so untouchable, that his efforts were bound to come to nothing.
Frank had secured them a modest rental near downtown, and Maud set out to make it comfortable, unpacking her crates, ironing each crewel lace antimacassar, unwrapping the majolica, and lining up her volumes of Tennyson and Sir Walter Scott on a shelf. Each September sunrise turned the horizon into a vast expanse of fiery reds and yellows. In the morning, outside the window, she could hear the song sparrow’s trill, and sometimes she could almost imagine that she was still home in New York. But as soon as she stepped outside, she was faced with an unfamiliar world. When she and the boys ventured two blocks to the south, the small neighborhood of houses gave way to the limitless expanse of switchgrass, blue grama, and needle-and-thread, where red-winged blackbirds sang out their sounds of conk-luh-ree, conk-luh-ree, and where, apart from the birds warbling and the rustling prairie grass, the stillness was so profound that silence almost seemed to carry its own tune.
* * *
—
MAUD HAD ARRIVED IN Dakota Territory anxious to see her sister, but she had not fully understood just how vast Dakota was—and how difficult it was to get to anyplace that wasn’t on the railroad line. The closest town to Julia’s homestead was almost eighty miles north of Aberdeen, a good ten miles from the nearest train depot. To her frustration, Maud realized that it was no easier to see Julia now than it had been when she was back in Syracuse. Maud had received several worrisome letters about how her sister’s new baby, James, was not feeding well. Maud wrote back, urging her to come to Aberdeen, where it would be easier to procure medical treatment, but Julia’s answers were always noncommittal.
By the end of the first week, Maud’s new house was all set up. She was sweeping the kitchen floor when peals of laughter brought her outside to their rough patch of prairie grass, where she saw both boys and Frank lying flat on their backs staring up at the sky, which was studded with fluffy white and gray clouds that were sailing fast across the wide blue expanse like barks on a heavenly river.
“Choo-choo train!” Bunting called out, pointing to a cloud formation as it skidded past.
“Elephant!” Robin cried.
“Lion!” roared Frank. “And that there is none other than a bear—” Seeing her, he broke off. “Come on down, Maud,” he called out, reaching up to tug on her hand.
“Those aren’t mythical beasts, Frank Baum, those are rain clouds! Get up off that damp ground and bring the boys inside before the three of you catch cold!”
“Nonsense!” Frank cried. “We are not lying on the damp ground. Why, we’re watching a parade, aren’t we, boys?”
“A circus parade!” Robin lisped.
“With elephants and lions,” Bunting said.
“And don’t forget the bears!”
Frank tugged harder on Maud’s hand. A million things flitted through her mind: the heap of potatoes that was only half-peeled, the fire she needed to light in the stove now that the cool September evening was beginning to close in, the dinner to cook and the dishes to wash and the mending she wouldn’t get to until both of the boys were in bed.
“Hurry up! Maud dear, a seventy-six-piece brass band playing the ‘Sons of Temperance March’ will be coming by soon. You don’t want to miss it!”
“Yes, come on, Mama!”
Off in the distance, a bell jangled on the harness of a passing dray horse.
“That’s it,” Frank called out. “I can hear it starting up already.”
In spite of herself, Maud clambered down, arranged her skirts, and lay on the spiky grass next to the three boys staring up at the sky. As if the heavens wanted to prove her instinct right, she immediately felt a fat raindrop fall on her forehead.
But there was no stopping the irrepressible Frank. He had started to hum, whistle, and thigh-slap a fair approximation of a marching band, and the four Baums lay on the grass, watching the clouds skidding by on the giant prairie sky, calling out one after another, “I see the fife!” “There’s the trombone!” “Lookee there—it’s fourteen cornets!” until a loud thunderclap shook the ground and the boys and Maud jumped up, leaving Frank still lying on his back, grinning, shouting out, “Why, what’s the hurry? That’s nothing but the big bass drum!”
At that moment, the heavens unleashed a torrent of rain. Maud grabbed each of the boys by the hand and hurried them inside. First she peeled off their wet shirts and then hurried to get the fire started in their Oakland stove. She made the boys sit near the fire until each had drunk a cup of warm milk from the back of the stove, while the storm grew more furious, lashing the windows and rattling the panes.
“We shouldn’t have let them out in the cold like that,” Maud said, wrapping a shawl around each boy’s shoulders.
Frank came up behind Maud, pulling her close and resting his head on hers.
“Don’t worry so much, Maudie. The boys are healthy. A little cold won’t hurt them. They’re thriving in this healthful country air.”
As Maud turned around and gazed into his large gray eyes, a feeling rose up in her, a heat like melting silver that ran down the sides of her face, along her arms, and down her belly.
The family settled in quickly, and Maud could tell that Frank and the boys were thriving in their new home. Only her concern about Julia weighed upon her. Since writing to say that the baby was sick, Julia had sent no more letters. Maud feared this was a bad sign—if the baby was doing poorly, she might have no time to write.
Then, a few weeks after their arrival in Aberdeen, Frank came home from town with a telegram.
ARRIVING SATURDAY STOP BABY SICK STOP
“I wonder how she got the money for the tickets,” Maud said. “She wrote several times that she hadn’t enough.”
“How indeed,” Frank said, then whistled a happy tune.
“You bought the tickets?”
Frank smiled. Maud flung her arms around her husband. “Thank you, thank you!” she said.
* * *
—
MAUD WAITED IMPATIENTLY AT the depot. Julia’s train was delayed. When at last she saw the signalman illuminate the green lantern, she scanned the flat horizon for the first sight of an approaching train. The last time she had seen her sister, Maud had been too weak to sit up to say goodbye. How peculiar, how unpredictable that she now waited for her sister on the platform of this distant town—Maud healthy and hale, and Julia nursing a sick child.
At last, Maud spotted a faint smudge of black against the blue sky. A few minutes later the train pulled into the station, and soon Maud saw a woman who resembled her sister—and yet, could that worn-looking woman truly be Julia?