David Marshall Jamesby David Marshall James
First published in Spring, 2009, Volume 6, Issue 1, The Hatchet: Journal of Lizzie Borden Studies.
“I want to be Ozma!” Beth protested.
“Nonsense. You were Ozma yesterday,” Nan insisted. “And Genia was Princess Dorothy. It’s her turn to be Ozma today, and mine to be Princess Dorothy, but you can be Princess Dorothy if you’d like, Beth, and I’ll be Betsy Bobbin.”
Such youthful diplomacy had elevated Nan to unofficial leadership of the triumvirate, whether she was Ozma or no. Nevertheless, Nan—having two younger brothers—was learning to keep her tendency toward bossiness at bay, courtesy of repeated admonishments from her father, a well-liked attorney in Fall River, Massachusetts, and its surrounding villages.
For her part, Beth’s impetuousness went largely unchecked, she being the only and much-indulged child of otherwise well-meaning parents who had sought fervently yet fruitlessly to provide her with additional siblings. While Beth’s desires were more often than not fulfilled with alacrity, Genia—the youngest of the three playmates and decidedly near the bottom of a brood of seven—habitually acted as commanded, the proverbial follower to Nan’s organizational finesse and Beth’s fixations on personal gratification.
Nan’s advocacy of the “fair is fair” doctrine was readily, if grudgingly, accepted by the Mesdemoiselles of French Street, as they called themselves following the Autumn 1919 semester of instruction in French at Miss Hadrian’s Academy for Girls in Fall River, where they had been schoolmates since the age of five. Before that, they had been neighbors who had sought each other’s company at play. However, they had not banded as a group until the commencement of their academic careers at Miss Hadrian’s, where they found themselves excluded from the larger cliques, whose families, if truth be told, were not quite of the same elevated social order. To put it succinctly, an unspoken jealousy transmuted into a reverse snobbery had precipitated their exclusion and served as the catalyst for the coalescence of their close-knitted threesome.
After their course in French, Beth had decided on the “Mesdemoiselles” appellation, yet she took it a grandiose step further to “Mesdemoiselles de la Rue du Francais.” Even the generally withholding Genia voiced her concern that the name was “de trop,” so Nan—ever the mediator—had shortened it, explaining: “It’s ‘French Street,’ not ‘La Rue du Francais.’” The principal point was that “Mesdemoiselles” sounded much more grown-up, more glamorous, than “Girls,” and Beth knew it as well as any of them.
The young ladies did agree most wholeheartedly on one subject: their passion for L. Frank Baum’s Oz series. Through birthdays, Christmases, and piggy-bank bonanzas, each had acquired a full set of the Baum oeuvre. Every night, they all read a pre-agreed-upon section of one of the volumes, their current occupation being The Magic of Oz, a particular favorite, although Beth would tell anyone who would listen that she preferred The Emerald City of Oz, because of Ruggedo’s, the Gnome King’s, plot to overthrow the titular capital.
Nan, Beth, and Genia were fortunate on many fronts, not the least of which were their families’ imposing abodes on one of the city’s most affluent thoroughfares, which was lined with oversized homes in architectural styles most congenially fitted to feed the fancies of three of Baum’s most imaginative readers. As they acted out their Oz games, one house might serve one day as a castle, while on another it could function as an entire city. On Tuesday afternoon, one residence might be elevated to the grandest, most desirable place in Oz, while it could be reduced to the most fearsome place in the land the following Wednesday.
Nevertheless, one domicile remained immutable in its connotation: the Palace of Maplecroft, home of Bordenia the Terrible. As a rule, they avoided Maplecroft and its nearest neighbors on either side, for that could well result in a direct encounter with Bordenia. Just yesterday, they had espied the dreaded figure emerging from her long, black automobile, from which she proceeded to sweep up the walkway to her glass-enclosed front porch, cutting quite a fashion plate in a deep-green velvet gown with gold braiding, draped in a matching cape.
“What I wouldn’t give for that cape,” Beth whispered, as the trio viewed Bordenia from behind a rose trellis between the two houses across the street.
“Why, if you put it on, your heart would turn black as coal,” Genia gasped.
“P’shaw,” Beth tossed her curls. “It would perfectly match our Royal Staff. Can you imagine how much fun it would be, to be Ozma in Bordenia the Terrible’s cape?”
The staff to which Beth referred had been modeled after the one in John R. Neill’s beautiful illustrations in the Oz volumes: a “Z” inside an “O” atop a simple cane. Nan’s Father had spent the better part of a Saturday helping the threesome fashion their most prized possession from specially cut pieces of wood he had obtained from a local cabinetmaker. In order to make it a truly group talisman, the girls had each contributed to the purchase of two small cans of gold-colored paint from said cabinetmaker, who was accustomed to restoring and creating gilt-legged furniture and objets d’art. Thus supplied, the Mesdemoiselles were able to gild the Royal Staff of Oz.
“Well, I wouldn’t wear it, not for all the tea in China,” Nan asserted.
Beth, however, remained obdurately attached to the idea of appropriating Bordenia’s cape. Therefore, when Genia waved the Royal Staff to proclaim the commencement of Oz-play the following day, announcing, “What concern may we take up, my beloved friends,” Beth replied, “I suggest, dear Ozma, that we approach the Palace of Maplecroft and attempt to secure the fabulous, magical green cape of Bordenia the Terrible!”
“I daresay that we must raise an Army before we can attempt your suggestion, Princess Dorothy,” Genia waved the Royal Staff a tad too close to Beth’s face to suit the latter’s taste.
“What do you say, Betsy Bobbin?” Beth’s rising dander manifested itself in her tone of voice.
“I shall accompany you on your journey, Princess Dorothy, for the Palace of Maplecroft will be fraught with many perils,” Nan decided, not being immune to injecting an element of excitement into their Oz escapades.
“As supreme ruler of Oz, I am much opposed to this mission!” Genia exclaimed, with uncharacteristic forcefulness.
“Maybe Ozma would like some of the gumdrops Father purchased at the confectioner’s yesterday evening?” Nan attempted to appease the voice of opposition.
“Oh, all right. But, first let me hide the Royal Staff, so we won’t stand out like sore thumbs,” and Genia secured it behind a mulberry bush that abutted the front of Nan’s house.
Beth was already skipping along toward Maplecroft as Nan and Genia cautiously took up the rear, almost half a block away. Beth turned around to confront them: “You two lollygaggers needn’t come with me if you’re frightened. But, I mean to have that cape.”
“This is sort of silly, Beth,” Nan replied. “That cape looks to cost dear. What makes you think she will just hand it over to you?”
“It never hurts to ask,” Beth stated.
“No, and it will pain her none to tell you, ‘No,’ either,” Nan answered. “Why don’t you ask your parents for a green cape? You’re more likely to hear a ‘Yes’ from them.”
“Perhaps so. But, it wouldn’t be Bordenia’s, and it wouldn’t be as good as hers.”
“Listen, both of you,” Genia spoke up. “What will our parents do to us if they find out we’ve been about asking Bordenia for anything, much less the clothes off her back?”
“Well, we just won’t tell them. It will be the grand secret of the Mesdemoiselles of French Street,” Beth proclaimed. “Why, Genia, you don’t go in every evening and retell all our adventures during your family’s supper, do you?”
“I have six brothers and sisters. No one’s interested in our adventures. Besides, we’re all too busy getting our potatoes and gravy before the dish goes empty.”
“What about you, Nan?” Beth queried.
“I’m not about to talk my business in front of my little brothers. They’d just laugh and make fun of me, and turn whatever I said into a tease.”
“There you have it, then,” Beth declared. “I’ve no brothers and sisters, and I don’t sit at the supper table and discuss who was Princess Ozma and what all of the particulars of what we Mesdemoiselles do. It’s a secret. So, I just say, ‘Oh, we played out scenes from the Oz stories,’ and that satisfies my parents, when they ask how I’ve spent the afternoon. Besides, they’re far more interested in what’s happening at Miss Hadrian’s, but I don’t tell every little particular about that, either.”
“Don’t you fear you’re being too secretive, sometimes?” Nan wondered.
“Do you think your parents let on what all they’re up to, Nan? I should think not. If it’s important for them to know something, then I am not so secretive. But, I don’t see why they must know about the Mesdemoiselles. After all, it’s our club. Does your Mother allow you to sit in with her clubs, Nan?”
“No, she shoos us out of the room—or, the house.”
“Well, there you have it,” Beth was pleased to assert herself over Nan for a change. Of course, she was the boldest of the three, the most stubborn, the most accustomed to having her own way, and the most determined to pursue a notion when it stuck in her mind. It was a formidable combination of personality traits that could trump Nan’s bossiness and steamroll over Genia’s predilection to trail instead of trail-blaze.
When Nan and Genia caught up with Beth, she reminded them: “We’ve a perfect right to walk down French Street, so let’s act as if we’re not doing anything out of the ordinary.”
They approached Maplecroft from the left side of the house. “Good, no one’s on the front porch,” Beth observed. “Now, let’s hurry on, just beyond it. If we walk along the side of the house, and keep our heads low, no one can see us out of any of the windows.”
“If someone is down cellar, they can see us go by,” Nan countered Beth’s logic.
“Well, they’ll just see our feet and not our faces,” Beth reasoned.
“Oh, what if we’re caught out?” Genia whimpered.
“We’ll say we’re after our lost ball,” Beth replied.
“But, we haven’t any ball,” Genia continued.
“Listen, you goose: it’s a good thing you weren’t a Puritan back in England. You never would have gotten aboard The Mayflower, and Massachusetts would still be full of Indians and other heathens.”
“That’s not fair, Beth, to blame Genia for the lack of civilization in Massachusetts,” Nan chided Beth.
“Well, it is fair to say she would be a bad excuse for a Pilgrim.”
“I would have made a wonderful Pilgrim,” Genia squared her shoulders, held her head high, and marched past her cohorts, straight to the far end of the house. She promptly rounded the corner, directly into view of Miss Lizbeth Borden, who was hanging a block of suet on a low branch of a maple tree, for the birds she enjoyed viewing from inside, as well as from her back porch.
“Hello. Who are you?” Miss Borden smiled at Genia.
“Uhm…. Uhm…. My name’s Genia. I mean, Eugenia, ma’am.”
“That’s a lovely name. What brings you to my backyard, Eugenia?”
“Uhm…. Uhm…. Beth said I was a terrible Pilgrim, but I’m not.”
“Well, if your intent was to make a pilgrimage to my backyard, then I would have to disagree with this Beth and say that you are a very good Pilgrim.”
“Thank you.”
“Is there some reason that my yard has become a destination for young Pilgrims?”
“As a matter of fact, it’s because of Beth.”
“My goodness, Eugenia, this Beth certainly seems to hold sway over you.”
“She surely does. She’s always got a notion for something. Between you and me, she’s more than a bit spoiled.”
“Does she have any sisters or brothers?”
“No.”
“Does she reside on French Street?”
“Yes.”
“Then, chances are, you are correct.”
“Still, she’s a good friend. So is Nan. We all live on the same street as you do, and we all play Oz games in the afternoon. Do you read the Oz books, Miss Borden?”
“No, although I am familiar with them. There were no Oz books when I was your age.”
“Mercy! Whatever did you read?”
“Well, let me think—Louisa May Alcott and Mark Twain and Washington Irving.”
“Well, we read their books, too, but it’s difficult to play Little Women, because there are only three of us, and, if there were four, no one would want to be Beth, because she dies.”
“You do have a point.”
“Yes, my point is that Beth—spoiled Beth, not Beth March of Little Women—saw you in your beautiful green cape, and she thought it would be a wonderful costume to wear when someone gets to be Ozma in our games.”
“Yes, I should think so, too. However, that’s a brand-new cape from Filene’s, in Boston.”
“I bet it set you back a ways.”
“As a matter of fact, it did. I shall keep you in mind, however, when I’m willing to part with it.”
The conversation was interrupted and the participants’ attention thus diverted to the back porch, where Colleen, Miss Borden’s cook, had appeared, announcing: “Miss Leighton’s on the telephone, ma’am, about your dinner tonight.”
“She hasn’t canceled, I trust?”
“No, ma’am, though she says she will be a bit late at the library this evening.”
“Very well, I shall speak with her. You will excuse me for a few minutes, Eugenia. If you come up on the porch, I’m sure Colleen will slice you a piece of lemon-custard cake. You would like that, I presume?”
“Yes, ma’am. I have six brothers and sisters, so cakes don’t last very long at our house.”
“I should think not. Colleen, you will serve our guest, then.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Miss Borden hastened up the stairs to the porch, thereupon proceeding into the house to attend to her telephone call. Meanwhile, Genia seated herself at a circular-topped table, where she was presently served a thick wedge of layered cake filled with lemon custard and frosted with a fluffy white icing made with butter, sugar, and whipped egg whites. Genia partook merrily and unabashedly of the treat, which was accompanied by a large glass of cold milk. As she ate, she caught a glimpse of Beth and Nan peering around the corner of the house. Beth raised her hands, palms out, in a “What’s happening” gesture, which Genia answered with a similar mime. Afterward, she took a sip of milk in order to convey the message, “How bad can things be if I’m having cake and milk on Miss Borden’s back porch?”
Beth and Nan, thus reassured and therefore much relieved for Genia’s sake, departed the premises. About ten minutes later, Miss Borden reappeared, carrying a large dress box from Filene’s under her right arm. She espied Genia, who was forking the cake crumbs off her plate, and commented, “I can tell you enjoyed that. I would offer you another piece, but I’m afraid I’ve about spoiled your supper, and I certainly don’t want you to become ill from a surfeit of sweets.”
“Begging your pardon, Miss Borden, but no one in my house will care if I don’t eat much at supper. It will just mean more for my brothers and sisters.”
“Be that as it may, we shall have other encounters and further desserts, I hope.”
“Oh, yes. Yes, ma’am.”
“I have fumbled through my closets, just knowing that I had something tucked away that you could use in playing your games of make-believe, and here it is.” Miss Borden placed the dress box on the table, removing the lid to reveal its contents: a bright green jacket covered with hundreds of shimmering beads.
Genia gasped with delight, “Why, Miss Borden, that’s stupendous! But, you really don’t want to give that away, do you?”
“To tell the truth, it’s not mine. Besides which, I would never wear it—it’s far too flashy to suit my tastes. It was left behind here, many years ago, by a friend of mine. She was an actress, and it was perfectly suited to her tastes. It’s only right that, since you’re acting, you should have an actress’s jacket.”
“But, Miss Borden, what will happen should your actress friend return for her jacket?”
“I sincerely doubt that she will. This jacket has been left here since before you were born.”
“Oh, my goodness. Why did you keep it for so long?”
Miss Borden sighed. “Memories—pleasant memories of a happy time in my life. Maybe I hoped she would come back, someday. However, that is not to be. Anyway, the jacket would never fit me, and I’ve a sneaking suspicion that it would not fit my friend, either, after all these years. So, I give it to you, and it has all worked out nicely that I have saved it all this time, then, so it may bring enjoyment to someone else. And—who knows—you may grow up to become an actress yourself.”
“Thank you so much, Miss Borden, for the delicious cake and the beautiful green jacket.”
“You may truly thank me by surprising me with another visit. And, do tell Beth she is welcome, as well.”
“And Nan, too?”
“And Nan, of course. Now, I’m off to take a nap before my dinner guest arrives. We do so much chatting into the night, and I don’t wish to be yawning discourteously in her presence.”
“I hope you have a pleasant rest, then. Goodbye, Miss Borden.”
“Goodbye, Eugenia.”
And so Genia came to be the proud possessor of Nance O’Neil’s beaded green party jacket. Genia hurried home with it, hiding the Filene’s dress box under her bed. Thereafter, the garment became her treasure, handled gingerly by herself only. She even wore it to her first sweet-sixteen dance, at which time the jacket had made a full circle back into fashionable style. Yet, that is skipping too far ahead into Genia’s personal history.
What caused her to keep it a secret from Beth and Nan? Certainly, she could have trusted Nan to be careful with it. Beth, however, would have probably appropriated it, slipping it home with her when she had a chance to play Ozma. Or, she would have insisted that she borrow it for some purpose, then report that it had somehow been lost. Genia hated to think such things of a friend, but, at the least, she feared Beth would tell the story behind the jacket, and they all three would land in some fearsome trouble. Beth would escape with the lightest punishment, but Genia’s would stick, and so would Nan’s. Their parents might well separate them, might well forbid them from playing together. Undoubtedly, Genia would be banned from further contact with Bordenia. Funny that—Beth’s logic was working on Genia. Parents had plenty of secrets. Why shouldn’t children have a few of their own?
That night, Genia requested and received a sheet of her Mother’s lavender-scented stationery, on which she addressed her most recent acquaintance:
Dear Miss Borden,
Thank you for the delicious cake, and thank you for the beautiful jacket. I shall take extra-special care with it. I shall not play in it, out of doors.
I shall put it on and pretend to be a famous actress, just like your friend. I should like to be an actress. I believe Mother would swoon if she knew this, so I shall keep it a secret.
I shall bring around Beth and Nan to meet you, soon. Please do not tell them about the jacket. Please let that be our secret.
Your New Friend, Eugenia Davenport
Genia posted the letter herself, the following morning, after she stepped off the streetcar, en route to Miss Hadrian’s School for Girls. During their recess, Nan and Beth bombarded her with questions about Bordenia, and Genia reveled in her newfound status as the focus of the Mesdemoiselles of French Street.
“I can’t believe you ate her cake and drank her milk,” Beth gasped.
“It was truly delicious. She’s not so terrible, once you get to know her.”
“I can’t believe you actually asked her for the green cape,” Nan uttered in astonishment.
“Well, Beth said that was the goal of our adventure.”
“I never expected that Bordenia would give it to us,” Beth retorted, as if Genia were a fool for actually acting on Beth’s directive.
“Then you won’t be disappointed that she didn’t give it to you, Beth. By the way, Bordenia said I was a wonderful Pilgrim, so I believe I could have civilized Massachusetts, after all.”
