Maud’s heart leapt as she caught sight of Frank. Tall and gracious, he was greeting his patrons at the doorway, shaking each gentleman’s hand and passing a free gift box of Gunther’s candies to each lady. When a child entered, Frank squatted down, engaged in a brief conversation, and pressed a piece of penny candy into each palm.
Inside, the store looked like a colored plate of Aladdin’s Cave in a children’s book. Everyone was commenting about the artful way the merchandise was displayed. It reminded Maud of the theater. The store was a stage, the wares were the set, and Frank was the star of the show, dressed in his immaculate long-tailed coat, starched white collar, and bow tie. Maud thought about her own father: his apron, his eyeshade, his neat rows of numbers stenciled on a pad. Baum’s Bazaar was not even a close cousin to that enterprise. Up in the rafters, Japanese paper lanterns twinkled in shades of rose, blue, yellow, and orange. Piles of crockery and cut-glass vases sparkled. Fancy silver tea sets and sugar tongs glittered like jewels.
Maud could scarcely contain the children’s excitement as they took in the vast array of toys. There were monkeys, horses, rabbits, cats and pug dogs made from fur; there was a miniature tin kitchen with a full set of pots and pans; there were lead soldiers and toy villages to delight the boys, all manner of toy guns—pop guns, BB guns—and swords, plus steam engines and magic lanterns. Magdalena held tight to Maud’s hand as she looked with wonder at the dolls. There were dressed dolls and waxed dolls, patent dolls and bisque dolls. Dolls that cried when you lifted them, and dolls that said “Mama.” There were carriages and cradles, doll high chairs, and doll swings. Hobbyhorses with long manes and tails made of real horsehair were poised to gallop to imaginary lands. Shiny sleds with bright red runners would surely delight the children back home, but she wondered where a child could sled on such a pancake-flat landscape. Maud soon lost track of the boys, who had crowded around a brand-new bicycle.
Magdalena was gazing at the doll display, Dorothy clutched tight to her chest. When Frank joined them, he reached into the display, picking out the largest and most elaborate doll. It had jointed limbs, real hair, blue eyes that opened and closed, and a trunk full of elegant clothes.
Frank knelt down beside Magdalena. “What do you think about this one?” he said. “She’s mighty fine-looking, isn’t she?”
Magdalena stayed mute, gripping her porcelain doll.
“Would you like a new Dorothy?” Frank asked. He touched the doll’s hair and pointed out her fancy wardrobe, stroking the real fur of the doll’s muff with the tip of his finger. But Magdalena just shook her head and stared back at the floor.
Frank patted her on the shoulder. “You needn’t worry, little one. I think I know how you feel. You love your very own Dorothy better than any of these dolls. Why, now that I look at her, I can see why. Look at her beautiful black hair,” Frank said, pretending that the penny doll had real hair, instead of painted-on black that was already half rubbed off. “And see how she smiles? Why, you know what?”
Magdalena looked up.
“I think I know what Dorothy wants! A high chair!” he said, pointing to the doll furniture.
Magdalena shook her head. Her eyes furtively darted toward a miniature china tea set, nested in a small wicker suitcase.
Frank saw where her eyes were resting. “You like that, don’t you?” He gently tapped her on the tip of her nose. Magdalena nodded, eyes wide.
“Dorothy likes it,” she whispered.
“And don’t you both look as pretty as buttons in your new blue dresses,” he said.
A smile washed across Magdalena’s usually somber face, bright as a prairie sunrise, and to Maud’s surprise, she dropped into a curtsy and then, holding her doll at arm’s length, twirled so that her skirt and curled locks billowed out around her, a beatific smile lighting up her face.
Then, just as suddenly, she resumed her watchful, puckered expression. Maud’s face was serene, but inside, she wanted to shout for joy. Like a little crocus poking through the snow, Magdalena was starting to come to life.
The next morning, when Maud came downstairs, she saw the little tea set sitting on the table. A moment later, she heard Frank’s jaunty steps skipping down the stairs.
“Oh, Frank,” Maud said, throwing her arms around him. “You remembered! She will be so delighted!”
* * *
—
“JULIA!” MAUD TRIED TO get her sister to listen to reason. “You mustn’t leave! Can’t you just stay through the winter with us? What’s the hurry?”
Julia was upstairs, packing.
“Maud, please, don’t ask,” Julia said. “You already know where I stand.”
“Then, sister, let me ask you something else. You know I can’t have any more children—or, rather, I think that perhaps I could, but I know that I must not. Frank and I have both grown to love Magdalena dearly. Why don’t you let her stay with us? You can give more attention to the baby, and it’s one less mouth to feed.”
Julia paled. She looked away.
Maud reached for her sister’s hand. “Julia, there’s no shame in it. I know you’ve been through hard times.”
“Maud, my dear little Maudie. You don’t know the half of it. A single summer hailstorm ruined most of our wheat.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “James had to mortgage the claim to make up the difference. If we lose it, we’ll have nothing—and James, he…” Julia clapped her hand over her mouth, as if she realized she was about to say something she would regret. “Sister, you can never imagine the loneliness I feel out there. Sometimes, James has to go away for days at a time. The view out my window is utterly devoid of life and seems to stretch to the ends of the universe, and at night, the only company is the sound of the wolves howling. It plays on a person. It can make your thoughts turn dark and confused. I can’t leave Magdalena here. The girl is my only company. Without my little girl, I fear that I would lose my mind!”
“But, Julia”—Frank had just come into the room and had overheard the tail end of the conversation—“surely you can put the girl’s welfare above your own loneliness? Your daughter would be in the safest and most loving hands with Maud,” he said. “We would treat her as our own daughter. We’ll give her the best of everything.”
Julia’s eyes flashed.
“I see what you do! New dresses and toys! How can I compete for my own daughter’s affections when I can offer nothing of the kind?”
“Julia, please,” Maud said, stunned by her sister’s bitter tone. “We are not competing for Magdalena’s affection. We are trying to help you—and her!”
“I’ve accepted your charity, and now Jamie is on the mend. From here on in, we will take care of ourselves. I’m selfish, I suppose,” Julia said. “But I can’t bear being alone.”
Maud’s temper rose to a flash point. She opened her mouth, ready to leap to the defense of her plan, but Frank caught on to Maud’s torrent of emotion, and he placed a staying hand upon her arm, cocking a single eyebrow as if to say, Not now.
“You are her mother,” Frank told Julia. “You must do as you see fit. But please know that our door is always open—for Magdalena, for baby Jamie, and for you as well. If you change your mind, just say the word and we’ll come and fetch her.”
That night, Frank stroked Maud’s back and wiped away her tears.
“We should have insisted,” Maud said. “If anything happens to Magdalena, I’ll never forgive myself.”
“No, Maud. I’m afraid if you demanded, that would only set Julia’s mind more firmly against it. Let her return to the homestead, and perhaps she’ll begin to reconsider.”
Maud flipped over and buried her face in his chest. “I hope you’re right.”
Maud shivered on the platform as the northbound train toward Ellendale pulled away, with Magdalena’s pale, narrow face pressed up against the window. Maud did not stop waving until the train was gone and all that was visible was a faint gray smudge of steam on the horizon.
* * *
—
A WEEK AFTER JULIA’S DEPARTURE, Maud was stirring a stew on the stove when she heard Frank push open the front door. As he entered the kitchen, she was surprised that he looked so dejected.
“What is it, darling?” Maud said.
“I’m afraid we’ve had a spot of bad news. Nothing to trouble you much…it’s just a business matter.”
Maud turned around and took in his pinched brow and tightened mouth.
“But you must tell me, Frank. Perhaps I can help you with it.”
“It’s just that there has been a big storm on Lake Huron. The Susquehanna has gone down.”
“The ship?” Maud was puzzled. “Oh, dear. Were people drowned?”
“No, thankfully, the crew was rescued, but it’s not so good for us,” Frank said. “It was carrying my entire Christmas order. All of the goods that I needed to stock the store…I’ll have to reorder everything, and nothing will arrive before the twenty-fifth.”
Maud could feel a furrow forming between her eyebrows. She rubbed it away with her finger, determined to appear calm.
“Wasn’t that the inventory you purchased on credit?” Maud asked.