Though they’d longed for a child, their daughter perplexed them. They enunciated each “tomato” and “tomahto”; Baby Maudie bawled until Nanny gave her catsup. (As vulgar as pickles, Cousin Helen said.) Nanny could not keep Maudie from the beloved rose garden, where she stuck sticks into the beds and could not say why. Then too, Maudie’s hair was distinctly auburn. Her mother had had no idea her husband’s family bore this tint. She chose blues for Maudie, who fought for reds like a slap. At 18, Maudie planted a ladder into the garden, tossed out two suitcases, and clambered away.