Finding Dorothy

by Elizabeth Letts

  Maud gasped. “What did you do that for?”

  “That’s what I do,” Matilda said. “You’re old enough to learn that crying gets you nowhere. If you pinch yourself, it will remind you that it’s better to be strong—when you’re strong, then you can fight.”

  It was raining and blood-red maple leaves were falling in clumps later that day when they buried Mr. Crow in their backyard. Dry-eyed, Maud carried the crow’s casket, which Papa had carefully fashioned out of scraps of wood. Papa dug a narrow hole in the ground just under the apple tree. Maud lowered the small box into the hole and solemnly covered it with a flat rock. Papa spoke the eulogy, and Mother added a few words about how crows were loathed for eating people’s corn and dressing in black feathers but that even so, they deserved equal protection, for they possessed inalienable rights. Maud thrust her hand into the pocket of her short pants and pulled out her amber cat’s-eye marble. At least she had managed to hold on to that prize. They sang “All Things Bright and Beautiful.” Once they had finished up with the amens, Maud called out a loud caw-caw that sounded suspiciously like she was saying Bob Crouse, Bob Crouse. Pretty soon, they had all joined in, even Mother and Papa. That was how the funeral of Mr. Crow ended up with peals of laughter.

  After that day, Maud felt better about the demise of Mr. Crow, but she soon realized that the crow’s funeral had done nothing to set her mother’s ire to rest. Matilda took up a crusade, writing letters to the state legislature. She was up in Albany all the time anyway, doing her business as the president of the New York State Women’s Suffrage Association, and she could talk a legislator’s ear off whenever she wanted something enough.

  Not much later, Matilda retrieved a letter from the mail slot and fluttered it at Maud triumphantly. The New York State Legislature had passed a bill making it illegal to kill a wild animal that was being kept as a pet.

  “You see, this is what the law can do. You’re going to study to be an attorney. With a diploma in law, you will be able to right this wrong and many others. You will grow up to be strong and brave, and you will protect the crows of the future,” she said. As Mother had assured her many times before, every man, woman, and child, Negro, believer, unbeliever, and even the critters of the field deserved an equal shot at happiness.

  Maud clasped her hand around the cool surface of the cat’s-eye in her pocket, but she felt, deep inside, that her mother was wrong. All the laws in the world couldn’t bring her crow back, nor make her forget the forlorn look in his eye. And how was she so certain a girl could earn a degree in law? She’d never heard of any woman achieving such a thing—not even her formidable mother, not even Auntie Susan, her mother’s dearest friend, the famous Susan B. Anthony! A diploma for a woman seemed even more impossible than a crow getting a fair shake in the world.

  CHAPTER

  4

  ITHACA, NEW YORK

  1880

  Nine years later, Maud Gage stood on the platform of the train depot in Fayetteville as the steam engine pulled in, black, belching, and majestic, drowning out her words, sweeping up her skirts in a gust, and blowing wisps of hair into her mouth. Maud’s hair was rolled and pinned up in the latest style, and she wore an elegant blue traveling dress. Now nineteen, she had long since folded away her hand-me-down boy’s clothes. Her father stood on one side of her, her mother on the other. In the din of the approaching train, Maud could see her mother’s mouth moving but was unable to hear her words. For the first time in Maud’s life, the giant iron horse, the rattling clacking sounds of the rails, the deep hoot of the whistle, even the blue sky itself seemed to work together in concert to diminish her mother. Maud was leaving home to attend Cornell University, and Mother was staying behind.

  Papa escorted his daughter onto the train and ushered her into a seat next to the window before settling into the one beside her.

  “Big day!” he said gruffly, reaching out to envelop Maud’s hand in his.

  Maud felt an unexpected tug of sadness. She had already sensed how much her father was going to miss her, but these last few days she’d hardly given him a thought, packing and repacking her trunk, counting the hours and minutes until her departure. She blinked resolutely, determined not to let her feelings show. Papa continued chatting in his mild manner—making comments about the passing scenery, the fine weather, and naming merchants he did business with in the towns they passed through. But Maud was too excited to listen, answering her father’s conversational gambits with monosyllables until, at last, he nodded off to sleep. Left uninterrupted, her thoughts clattered in her head like their passenger car over the tracks. She stared out the window, noting the station platforms—Homer and Cortland, Freeville and Etna—marking off a path that took her farther from home. With each passing depot, more weight lifted off her shoulders. By the time the train arrived in Ithaca, she felt so light she could float upon the air. She stepped out onto the platform certain that she was going to love her new life.

  The buildings of Cornell University crested a high hill. At the college’s center rose the brick-fronted form of Cornell’s new women’s dormitory, Sage College, its central tower jutting like an accusing finger into the sky. Maud could imagine Mother pointing at the colossal edifice and saying, “Women are equal, and here is the proof.” But not everyone was as convinced of this as Matilda Joslyn Gage. In spite of the beautiful new building dedicated to women’s education, the young coeds were not fully equal, not yet.

  Eager to start her new life, Maud had tried not to dwell on her mother and brother T.C.’s discussions about the storms of controversy that had ensued in the male student body over the admittance of young women––the furious debates in the school’s newspaper and around the dining tables in the refectory, the young men, soon to be her classmates, who had spoken out vociferously against the new policy, the faculty members who had argued that women would bring down the standing of the fledging Cornell. Maud’s mother had fought hard for women to win the right to earn a diploma—something that Matilda herself had been denied. Maud’s older sister, Julia, had borne the agony of her mother’s dashed expectations, enrolling at Syracuse only to return home, unable to keep up due to her sick headaches and nerves. Maud understood that she had been anointed—she was not to let her mother down.

  * * *

  —

  PAPA COULD NOT STAY LONG—the last train out of Ithaca gave him little time to linger—and so once he had seen to it that her trunk was delivered safely into her new room, they said their goodbyes. Maud clung to Papa for a final moment, burying her face in his wool coat, breathing in the scent of him, his cigar smoke and his soap. After a moment, she let go, but he held her at arm’s length a bit longer. “Don’t let anybody steal your marbles,” he said, his voice cracking, then let go and turned away, although not fast enough for Maud to miss the tears glistening in his eyes.

  Through the window she saw him retreating back into the carriage and tipping his hat before disappearing from sight. Maud realized that she was alone, for the first time in her life.

  But she had not been alone for a quarter of an hour when she heard a gentle rap on the door of her new room. She opened it to find a smiling young woman whose aureole of red-gold curls was lit up by the sun streaming in the window.

  “Oh, you’re here! How delightful!” the girl said, walking into the room without stopping to ask her leave. “You must be Miss Gage? How do you do? I’m your roommate, Josie Baum.”

  Miss Baum had a freckled complexion and eyes that looked like bright blue buttons in her face. Their room, which was situated along a long corridor on the third floor, faced the quadrangle, and the window afforded a pleasant vista of its green expanse. Her new roommate, a sophomore, knew all about life in Sage, and Maud took the opportunity to ask her many questions.

  “Let me take you on a tour,” Josie offered. “You need to be able to find your way around.”

  Sage College, christe
ned just five years earlier, in 1875, had been constructed with no expense spared; it was a three-story building with three large wings, and everything the coeds could have needed or wanted was provided for them. There were modern water closets on every floor, and bathrooms where hot water came straight from the taps. Josie toured Maud around its vast expanses, the corridors and stairways, the drawing rooms with the silk striped wallpaper, elegant wicker upholstered armchairs, and thick Oriental rugs. Each common room was equipped with its own grand piano. There was a gymnasium for healthful exercise, an indoor swimming pool, and an infirmary for when they were sick, a library, countless classrooms, and, of course, a large dining room that served three hot meals a day. All that was missing were girls. The cavernous building was mostly empty, its long hallways flanked by empty rooms. Mr. Sage had designed the college to be large enough to house more than two hundred young women, but fewer than thirty brave souls had enrolled as coeds. Maud’s own class consisted of only nineteen women among a class of more than two hundred gentlemen.

  Maud spent the rest of the afternoon unpacking her trunk, while Josie sat on her bed. Each dress Maud unfolded required a full inspection from her new friend, who was enthusiastic about all things dress-related. This was a surprise to Maud. Mother, though particular in her own toilette, thought discussion of dresses and ribbons and lace frivolous. Besides, she seemed to assume that Maud was the same girl who had been happy wearing boy’s clothes, when, in fact, she’d developed quite a liking for pretty frocks.

  “Oh, you must wear this one to dinner tonight!” Josie said when Maud pulled a pale yellow dress from her trunk and smoothed out its wrinkles.

  “Do you like it?” Maud asked. “I just picked it up from the dressmaker. It’s brand-new.”

  “It’s lovely,” she said. “And you simply must make a good first impression. The young men join us for dinner. First night, you know, everyone will be looking at the new hens.”

  “Hens?”

  “Oh, that’s what they call us,” Josie said, as if it didn’t bother her at all. “You’ll get used to the way we talk here, soon enough.”

  * * *

  —

  THE TWO WOMEN DESCENDED the broad staircase of Sage College arm in arm. In the dining room, large tables laid with crystal and silver glowed in the soft light of the gas lamps. Clusters of young men were gathered on the sofas and at the small tables, and a group had gathered around the piano, where someone was playing “When ’Tis Moonlight.” Maud couldn’t help but focus on a tall young man with hair the color of late autumn straw standing near the piano. His solid tenor floated above the other voices; he turned to watch Josie and Maud enter.

  “That’s Teddy Swain,” Josie said. “He’s an upperclassman.”

  The song ended and the piano player launched into a rollicking version of “My Grandfather’s Clock,” sending everyone’s feet tapping. Maud saw the giant expanse of polished dance floor in front of her and swirled right out into the middle of it, twirling so that the yellow skirts billowed out around her. She spun until she started to feel so dizzy that she staggered to a stop. As the room swam back into view, she saw Josie standing before her. Maud tugged on her new friend’s hand.

  “Come on,” Maud said. “Come dance with me.” Josie’s face was pale, and her mouth looked carefully arranged to appear completely neutral—just her eyes, normally merry, betrayed her sense of alarm. Only then did Maud notice that the music had stopped and that all eyes were upon her. She caught sight of Teddy Swain, still standing alongside the piano, a slight smile curling his lips. This was not the time to show embarrassment. That was a lesson the taunting neighborhood boys had taught her well. So, she laughed and did another twirl. She heard a smattering of applause, and saw that Teddy Swain and some of the other boys were clapping. Turning toward them, she curtsied low. Some of the girls looked away with pained expressions; others tittered behind their hands.

  “That one’s lively!” a young man commented.

  Josie came to Maud’s rescue, locking arms with her and marching her out of the common room and down the long polished hallway, until they stopped outside the library, where no one was about.

  “Miss Gage. What were you thinking? Would it not be prudent to start your introduction to society here a bit…well, more sedately?”

  Maud was stung that her brand-new friend was criticizing her, but she could plainly see that Josie’s expression was kind.

  “We have a way of doing things here,” Josie continued. “We girls come in for so much attention—you have no idea. You might avoid bringing attention to yourself.”

  “But I wasn’t trying to bring attention to myself,” Maud said, puzzled. “I heard the music, I saw the dance floor, and my heart was just full to bursting with the excitement of it all.” She looked curiously at Josie. “Aren’t you excited to be here? Oh, I mean, I know this is your second year, but we are away from home and on our own…”

  Josie laid her hand on Maud’s forearm. “You are away from home. Away from the guiding attention of those who love you. But, Miss Gage, if you wouldn’t twirl like that in your own parlor, in front of your own mother and father, pray why would you choose to do it here?”

  Maud stared at Josie, still confused. “Why would I not twirl in front of my own mother and father? Why, I’ve twirled around my own parlor more times than I can count. Is there a rule against twirling…?” Maud peered at her friend. “Are you a cranky old Methodist?”

  Josie’s expression softened. She looked as if she was struggling not to burst out laughing.

  “I’m not a cranky old Methodist,” Josie whispered. “I’m not cranky. I’m not old. I’m not even a Methodist,” she said. “I love dancing. But there is a time and a place for everything…and dancing is fine when others are dancing and you have been asked…”

  “You need to be asked to dance?” Maud asked.

  “You know, you are a most unusual person.”

  Maud’s face crumpled. “I don’t try to be unusual. I don’t feel unusual. But no one has ever suggested to me that it might not be a good idea to dance when you have a dance floor in front of you and someone is playing the piano.”

  “Well, let me tell you something,” Josie whispered. “Here at Sage, you might want to watch the other girls and see what they are doing, and try not to call too much attention to yourself.”

  Maud frowned. “I’m going to try to learn. It is very important that I acquit myself well here.”

  Josie patted her new friend on the arm. “Here are a few rules I suggest that you follow. When the gentlemen are about, don’t bring up any subjects to talk about. Let them lead the conversation. If there is an awkward pause, in a pinch, you can comment on the weather.”

  “But why would I do that?” Maud asked.

  “You truly don’t know?” Josie said.

  Maud shook her head.

  “I can see that you have a lot to learn.”

  “Will you teach me?” Maud asked. “I don’t mean to seem unusual.”

  “Have you seen the aspidistra plants, one in each corner of the common rooms?”

  Maud nodded.

  “You see how they stand in the corners, and you don’t really notice them?”

  “Yes…”

  “That is how you want to act. If someone looks at you, they will admire your shiny green leaves and the erect way you hold yourself, but if someone is not looking at you, they might forget that you are there.”

  “You want me to emulate the behavior of a potted plant?” Maud said.

  “I think a potted plant would be a good place to start,” Josie said.

  “And should I hop about?” Maud asked, hitching up her skirts and bunny-hopping down the corridor. “Because it will be most difficult to walk normally if both of my feet are planted in a pot.”

  At that, Josie hitched up her skirts and the tw
o of them proceeded to hop down the empty hallway toward the dining room, their laughter ringing out.

  As they reached the far end, they almost hopped right into Teddy Swain. Somehow, in a miracle of quick transformation, Josie managed to drop her skirts and reassemble her face into an expression of quiet repose, but Maud forgot to let go of her skirts and exclaimed, “Oh!”

  The gentleman bowed gracefully, though Maud could see that he did so partly to hide the smile on his face.

  “May I make the honor of your friend’s acquaintance, Miss Baum?”

  Maud, coming to her senses, let go of her skirts, smoothing them under her palms, which suddenly felt sweaty, as she looked up into the hazel eyes of Teddy Swain.

  “Miss Maud Gage, may I introduce Mr. Theodore Swain.”

  “How do you do,” Maud replied, aggravated when she heard a small squeak in her voice. She must get hold of herself.

  Teddy Swain nodded. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Gage. Are you by any chance one of the Fayetteville Gages? My uncle’s family has spoken of a family of that name.”

  “Yes,” Maud said, smiling. “My father is Henry Gage. And who is your uncle?”

  “We are related to the Marvel family, on my mother’s side. Pastor Marvel is my mother’s brother.”

  Maud couldn’t believe it. Of all the luck that she should arrive in Ithaca to be reminded of her former tormentor. But she didn’t want to let on how she felt. She thought of the potted plants and tried as best she could to emulate their expression.

  “Well, I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance,” she said. Teddy Swain tipped his head and held the door open for Maud and Josie to pass into the dining room.

  “He’s so handsome,” Maud whispered to Josie, after they were seated.

  “He’s a big man on campus,” Josie said. “President of the student body. He makes quite an impression on all of the girls.”