Gardens in the Dunes

Part Three

THE CHILD covered her ears with both hands as the coach pulled away from the gate and the monkey screamed and fought the maid, who held him. Edward pointed out the Indian school as the coach passed by, but the child only buried her face deep in the cushion of the seat. The drive to the train station in downtown Riverside gave Hattie a last chance to ponder their undertaking; if the child became ill or unhappy and uncooperative, the journey might be delayed or even ended. Hattie had not discussed Indigo’s future with Edward, but he seemed to understand how attached Hattie had become to the child.

Indigo gripped Hattie’s hand tighter and tighter as she smelled the coal smoke and heard the sounds of the locomotive. The sleeping compartments and the little parlor of the train car looked nothing like the train car with wooden benches that Indigo and the other Indian children had ridden.

Not long after the train left Riverside, the waiter brought a tray of covered dishes to the parlor car, where they ate fried chicken and mashed potatoes and gravy while the groves of lemon and orange trees passed outside the window. After lunch, Hattie unpacked a few of the books she’d brought along for herself and the child, Chapters on Flowers, Shrubs in the Garden and Their Legends, and for fun, a book of Chinese stories about a monkey. She had packed a small traveler’s atlas of Europe to teach Indigo geography.

Indigo knelt on the train seat with her cheek against the window, watching the trees and fences move past. As the sun sank low in the west, the clouds on the horizon blazed with yellow and red light. The train was headed east just as Hattie had promised. Indigo’s heart beat faster as she recognized the tall yucca plants from last year, when she watched at the train window all day and all night and memorized the landmarks to get her back home. Indigo asked if she might walk through the train, but Hattie explained that it was not permitted for children to walk about without an adult. They walked the length of the train and back, Indigo walking ahead of Hattie; the passengers stared at the child, then stared at Hattie before returning to the child, who wore her dress very nicely but went about in her stockings without shoes. “A missionary,” someone whispered behind them as they passed from the sleeping car to the observation car.

On their walk through the train, Indigo paid close attention to the passageway between the train car doors, to the steps off the train. She watched for familiar terrain — the sandy dunes below darker basalt hills, the creosote bush and burr sage. Then she would know the train was nearing Needles, where it had to stop to take on water and coal. Indigo was so excited she could hardly wait. She knew what she must do to escape.

All afternoon Indigo knelt on the seat for a better view; mile after mile she watched the land change. The lush green of citrus groves began to fade into pale greens and pale yellows of spring grass and wildflowers; a few miles more and there was only the spidery dark green shrubbery of the greasewood that covered the coarse alluvial gravel. The greasewood forest extended in all directions as far as one could see; far, far in the distance through the blue haze of late afternoon, Indigo could barely make out the blue outlines of desert mountains, which she did not recognize.

Just before sundown, the train stopped at a small train depot named San Bernardino to take on extra water and coal for the gradual ascent through the low mountain pass. Edward joined other passengers who took the opportunity to get off the train to stretch their legs. Indigo watched Hattie hopefully, but she was reading a book and only glanced up when the train stopped and when Edward left the car. Indigo stood up and stepped toward the door. Hattie looked up from her book and asked if she needed to use the lavatory. Indigo shook her head. She wanted to get down from the train and walk. Hattie looked out the windows and shook her head. There wasn’t time. Edward was about to reboard. The stop was almost over. A moment after Edward reentered the compartment, Indigo felt the train jerk and move forward and they were off again. She knelt on the seat, her face at the window to watch the blue outlines of the mountains in the distance fade into the lavender-blue twilight.

Later there was a knock and the porter entered the compartment and lit the lamps. Hattie closed the volume of early church history by Eusebius.

“Indigo,” she said, “how would you like a nice warm bath before dinner?” Indigo shook her head. She had already bathed that morning and she had never heard of any one bathing more than once in the same day unless they fell into something very smelly or very sticky.

Hattie smiled.

“Well, I think a warm bath would feel heavenly,” she said as she approached the door to the sleeping compartment. Edward glanced at Indigo, whose eyes never left the window, then he looked at the telegrams and other correspondence on the small table in front of him. Edward smiled and agreed with Hattie, then went back to his writing.

Without Hattie in the room the scratch-scratch of Edward’s pen’s steel nib and the occasional tink-tink of steel against the glass neck of the ink bottle sounded much louder to Indigo. Occasionally she heard Edward speak softly to himself or to the piece of paper; she was not certain. He seemed very intent, as if he were arguing with the paper. Indigo watched out the window as the little darkness eased herself over the greasewood forest; far behind her, big darkness came. The lamp’s light reflection filled the train window and Indigo could not see outside unless she pressed her face against the glass.

Hattie noticed the child’s fixed attention out the train window — entirely normal for a child on a train ride. But as they ate dinner, Hattie was surprised to notice Indigo’s gaze out the window had only intensified.

“Indigo, what is it that you see out there?” she finally asked. Indigo glanced at Edward, then looked at Hattie and shook her head. In all the excitement and noise of the journey, the child withdrew into herself, just as Hattie feared she might, though Indigo’s appetite did not seem to be affected; she ate the roast beef and vegetables on her plate, and when more food was served, it disappeared from the plate in no time. Edward, who complained of a headache from working on correspondence all afternoon, felt restored by the excellent dinner.

As the waiter served their slices of apple pie, they felt the train slow and the conductor called out, “Barstow,” a stop for water and coal. For the first time in hours, Indigo turned away from the train window and repeated the name of the stop. Indigo asked the name of the next stop, and Hattie looked to Edward, who reached into his bag and brought out a leather-bound traveler’s atlas that he took on all his expeditions. When he found the page, Edward kindly spread open the atlas on the table in front of Indigo and adjusted the lamp wick so there was enough light.

“See,” he said, pointing with his forefinger. “Here is the Barstow stop we’ve just departed, and over here, quite a distance really, is our next stop: Needles.” Indigo’s heart was pounding as she repeated the word that meant sharp-pointed objects, a good name, all right, for that town, she thought. Indigo was careful not to betray her excitement; she turned back to the window but over and over she repeated “Needles” to herself in rhythm with the train.

She had prepared as best she could for her escape by taking extra slices of roast beef off her plate to wrap in the napkin with the slices of bread. When no one was looking she maneuvered the bundle under her skirt and into her panties next to her belly. Grandma Fleet said always take food along.

After dinner Edward insisted he felt up to another letter or two and proceeded to refill his fountain pen. Indigo remained pressed to the window. Hattie brought out the garden books with the lovely tinted illustrations, but Indigo shook her head without even glancing at the books.

“You must be exhausted,” Hattie said. “I’ll go see if the trainman made up the berths.”

When Hattie gave her the nightgown, Indigo waited until she turned, then slipped it over her head without removing her clothes. She smelled the roast beef against her skin and wondered if Hattie would notice when she came to tuck her into bed. Now came the wait; she knew she must stay awake so she could creep out of the sleeping compartment at the first sensation the train was slowing for a stop. To keep herself awake, Indigo whispered a message to Sister Salt, the same message she sent to Linnaeus: “I love you so much and I miss you too. I send all my love with these words. I’m on my way. I’ll see you soon. I am always your sister Indigo.” She repeated the words softly until they were a little song that she sang a bit louder each time until Hattie looked in from the parlor car to ask if everything was all right. Indigo pretended she was asleep and did not answer.

After Edward and Hattie got into their berths, Indigo waited until they both were breathing slowly and deeply, then she slipped out of her berth and crept to the door to the parlor compartment. The door opened silently but the latch closed with a loud click. Indigo froze and held her breath, but heard no one stir in the berths. Indigo took her seat in the dark parlor car and watched the stars; no matter how fast the train moved and the earth moved, the stars remained unhurried on their slow journey.

Indigo was asleep when the train jerked and then jerked again and shuddered as the locomotive began to brake for the stop in Needles. Indigo quickly opened the compartment door, looked both ways for the conductor, then stepped out. She made her way to the end of the car to the exit door between the train cars, where the rush of wind smelling of coal smoke and the grind of steel wheels against steel rails engulfed her. She hid behind the luggage rack of valises and trunks to wait.

Her heart was pounding and she felt as if she might wet her pants, but the urge to urinate passed as the train slowed. In the distance she heard a voice call “Needles”; each call became louder as the conductor approached. Indigo closed her eyes and concentrated on the sand lizards she’d watched, then she flattened herself on the floor behind the luggage just as the conductor entered the car. He called out “Needles” loudly as the train jerked and creaked to a halt. Indigo’s heart sank further with each bump and brake’s squeal — the stops at San Bernardino and Barstow had been far less noisy and bumpy. She knew Hattie and Edward could not possibly sleep through all the racket.

She scrambled out of her hiding place to reach the outer door and the steps to jump from the train as it came to a stop. Just then she heard Hattie call out her name, and the sound of the compartment door, then footsteps behind her. Sweat ran down her chest and back; she had to get out now! Suddenly the conductor stood in front of her; behind her Hattie called her name. Indigo did not turn; she stood facing the exit door until she felt Hattie’s hand gently slip over her hand.

Clackety-clack! Clackety-clack! You left home, now you’ll never get back. Clackety-clack! Never get back, never get back, get back, get back, the rails sang; even when Indigo put her fingers in her ears she heard the song. She cried until the tears made a wet spot on the pillow. Hattie sat on the edge of her berth and patted Indigo’s back.

Indigo sobbed with disappointment in herself; Grandma Fleet would have been so disappointed too, because she always managed to escape the first time she tried. Now that she missed her chance at Needles, the train was speeding her farther and farther away from Mama and Sister Salt. Hattie was a nice person, and her husband was OK; Hattie meant well, but she did not understand.

Indigo cried herself to sleep and dreamed she was back at the old gardens. Linnaeus was up in the top branches of a tree helping Grandma Fleet pick apricots. The apricot seedlings had grown greatly in the dream and their branches were heavy with fat orange apricots. Sister Salt and Mama sat in the shade and split open the apricots for drying in the sun. She stayed with them in the dream for a long time because she felt their love for her so strongly. When she awoke, she could still feel their love, powerful as ever, and she was confident she would return to them before long.

Hattie could not get back to sleep. She was thinking about the child. The superintendent at the Indian school knew so little about her. When they returned from abroad, Hattie planned to make a thorough investigation of Indigo’s background. Edward was agreeable; he was actually quite interested himself in rare or extinct Indian cultures. Edward thought it was a coincidence the child tried to get off the train in Needles, but Hattie had seen the expression in Indigo’s eyes, and she knew Needles was Indigo’s destination.

The next morning Indigo slept past ten o’clock; she was reluctant to get dressed. When she finally raised her arms so Hattie could slip off the nightgown, Hattie saw the reason: Indigo had not undressed the night before. Indigo looked at Hattie, then reached down the front of her skirt and pulled out the stained napkin with the slices of roast beef.

“What’s this? Rations for your journey?” Hattie said softly. “Indigo, dear, you’d be all alone.”

“No!” Indigo cried as big tears ran down her face. Hattie felt her throat constrict.

“You must be terribly homesick, Indigo. I’m so sorry for you.” She reached out to hug Indigo but the child stiffened and turned away angrily.

“Mama and Sister Salt are waiting for me!” Indigo cried. She did not speak for the rest of the day, and sat listlessly on her berth and refused to eat. She felt better when she thought about the Messiah and the dancers. Hadn’t their Paiute friend told them that part of the year the Messiah traveled far to the east to find cooler weather? At that moment Indigo felt reassured; although she missed her opportunity to get off the train in Needles, still there was a chance the Messiah and the others were farther to the east anyway.

“Edward,” Hattie said as she returned from looking in on the sleeping child, “did the superintendent at the Indian school mention anything about the child having a sister or mother?” Edward removed his reading glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his fingers and shook his head wearily. He had difficulty getting to sleep the night before, then after the child’s near escape, he lay wide awake until dawn.

“Indian school employees are not particularly knowledgeable about their students,” he explained.

“Poor child! She must have known she was near her home and she—”

“She nearly got herself lost or killed jumping from the train!” Edward interjected. He mopped his forehead with his handkerchief, then opened the window wider for fresh air.

“Are you feeling ill?”

Edward smiled and shook his head. “Too much reading and writing in a jolting coach for an old man. Shall we play a game of gin rummy?” Edward refolded the pages of a letter and put away the letter and the legal-size documents bound in blue manila. Hattie glanced at the papers as he closed up the leather portfolio.

“Has something come up?”

“There’s not a thing to worry about,” Edward said as he brought out the deck of cards.

“The Pará expedition?”

Edward nodded.

“Wasn’t all that settled at the time?”

Edward removed the jokers and shuffled the deck.

“Shall I keep score?”

“Yes, if you will. Here’s the pencil.”

Edward continued to reshuffle the cards.

The insurance underwriters had indemnified all the investors. Nonetheless a lawsuit had been filed. His attorney even called it a frivolous lawsuit. Edward smiled reassuringly and passed Hattie the deck of cards.

There was a two-hour stop in Albuquerque for a crew change, and Hattie managed to persuade Indigo to accompany them for a stroll in downtown Albuquerque.

“The fresh air will do wonders for us,” Hattie said as she brushed Indigo’s hair and fastened it with little silver barrettes.

“These used to be mine when I was a girl. Mother made me wear them whenever I rode my horse so my hair didn’t tangle.”

“A horse?” Indigo knew of men who had horses, but a little girl?

“Yes, I know, my mother was just as shocked. She begged my father not to allow me to ride. But I had so much fun.” Indigo put on the kidskin slippers and Hattie arranged Indigo’s new straw hat with the ribbons down her back.

Beyond the depot platform Indigo was surprised to see five or six Indian women in the shade of the overhang from the depot roof, with their blankets spread open to display little black-and-white pottery and small willow baskets, not nearly so fine as Grandma Fleet’s baskets. Other train passengers were examining the pottery and baskets as they walked past. Indigo stared at the women’s faces and at their woven black dresses with red wool sashes, and the black-and-white pottery they made, and thought they must be related to the Hopi people. Hattie noticed Indigo’s interest in the women and thought perhaps the child might be comforted to greet people of her own kind. But when Hattie asked Indigo if she wanted to go over to speak to the Indian women, Indigo shook her head and walked faster to hurry past the Indian women, who were busy with sales to the train passengers.

Indigo was relieved to see that none of the Indian women had noticed her, dressed as she was like a white girl. What did Hattie think? Those women were strangers from tribes Indigo knew nothing about; what was she supposed to say to the Indian women? They would see the clothes and hat she wore and they would laugh and say, “What kind of Indian are you?”

They ate lunch in the dining room of Albuquerque’s only hotel, where the white people noticed Indigo and stared at her and Hattie and Edward as they walked through the hotel lobby to return to the train. Indigo smiled to herself; in Needles no Indians were allowed in the café or the hotel lobby. Edward found a two-week-old New York newspaper for sale in the smoke shop of the hotel, and Hattie bought a tin box of taffy.

Back on the train, Edward read the newspaper while Hattie and Indigo opened the candy, only to discover the taffy had hardened like bits of rock. Indigo was not discouraged; she showed Hattie how she and Sister Salt ate the hard dried dates, softening them first in their mouths for a long time; she did the same with the hard taffy.

“If Sister Salt is your big sister,” Hattie said, “do you have other sisters and brothers?”

“I don’t know,” Indigo said as she rolled the piece of taffy with her tongue. “Mama might have a new baby by now.”

“Indigo,” Hattie began in a soft voice, “I want to talk to you about your mother. The records at the school say you were orphaned.”

She was no orphan, Indigo assured Hattie confidently. She knew where her mother was, and her sister too. Her mother had escaped with the Messiah and his family and the other dancers into the mountains.

“The Messiah? Who is the Messiah, Indigo?”

Indigo looked into Hattie’s blue eyes to see if she was serious, or just teasing.

“You don’t know who the Messiah is?”

Hattie shook her head.

“Sure you do. It’s Jesus Christ.”

“Yes, but the Jesus I know lived very long ago, far across the ocean.”

Hattie hesitated before she said Jesus died in Jerusalem. Indigo shook her head; many were fooled by what happened. The Paiute woman told them after the soldiers tried to kill Jesus, he left that place and returned here to his home up in the mountains. He lives there with his family, but sometimes the Messiah takes his family great distances to visit other believers.

Hattie seemed at a loss for words, so Indigo explained: “When the people dance night after night, the Messiah and his family come down to join the people.”

The child’s vivid imagination lifted Hattie’s spirits. She had begun to feel unsettled, though she could not locate the source of her disquiet. Hattie put the lid on the candy tin and opened one of the garden books she had brought along to amuse herself and the child on the long train ride. She looked forward to the new book about sunflowers the bookseller in Los Angeles sent her just before their departure. She brought an old archaeological guide to the stone shrines of the British Isles because the book contained Celtic legends Hattie thought Indigo might enjoy.

Hattie agreed to accompany Edward abroad only because the travel would be very educational for Indigo; she felt responsible to see the child continued to learn reading and writing while in her care. Indigo was absorbed by the gardening book and studied each illustration for a long time before she turned the page. She asked Hattie the English names of the flowers and seemed especially fascinated with the gladiolus, which reproduced itself with clusters of cormlets.

Edward folded the newspaper as Hattie joined him at the little table.

“Anything interesting in the Albuquerque newspaper?”

“Oh, nothing too interesting, really. Your neighbor from Oyster Bay, Mr. Roosevelt, has been mentioned as a possible running mate for McKinley this time around.”

“That’s interesting. I expected Mr. Roosevelt to settle for nothing short of the presidential nomination.” Hattie thought McKinley the worst of the greedy politicians. Edward smiled. She sounded like her father, Edward teased, “Don’t forget: the budgets for acquisitions and independent contractors at the Smithsonian and for the Bureau of Plant Industry were quite generous under the McKinley administration.”

Hattie laughed. “So I sound like my father, do I?”

Just then the tray of tea and pastries arrived, and Hattie’s expression became serious.

“Indigo says she has a mother and an older sister,” Hattie began. “As soon as we return, I want to look into this.”

But Edward was doubtful. The government required that strict records of the Indians be kept; Indian mothers did not easily part from their children. Hattie glanced over at Indigo, who had started through the book of gardens a second time. The boarding school was run like prison; it was no place for a child as bright as Indigo. Hattie drew herself up straight in the seat. They didn’t care the child was lost — they called off the search after only a day!

“Nothing government employees do surprises me,” Edward said. “Remember, I’ve worked with them in the field. The Indian Bureau employees are some of the worst.”

♦ ♦ ♦

The train stopped in Kansas City to change crews, which was enough time for a stroll through the downtown, though the humidity and heat were considerable. While Edward was at the telegraph office, Hattie and Indigo visited the soda fountain next door. Indigo loved the vanilla ice cream but the fizzing bubbles of the soda went up her nose and brought tears to her eyes. They saw a disabled automobile blocking traffic; the freight wagons and buggies jammed the downtown streets.

Indigo had not seen a Negro woman before, only Negro soldiers. She tugged at Hattie’s sleeve and pointed at a tall, majestic dark-skinned woman who passed them in a lovely dress of pale yellow cotton trimmed in green satin ribbon; she wore a wonderful yellow felt hat with a single green feather and amazing button-up shoes of pale yellow leather with pearl buttons. As they walked through downtown Kansas City, Indigo saw a number of dark women dressed in satins and silks of the brightest prints and colors. On the streets crowded with people in clothing as ordinary as the dust, the Negro women were as lovely as hollyhock flowers in all their colors. Indigo decided they were more beautiful than white women in their pale colors of gray and beige.

Back on the train just after dark, Hattie pointed out the window to the great Mississippi River, as they crossed over it; but all Indigo saw was an ominous, surging darkness that went on and on like no river she ever saw. Night was the most difficult time; she missed Mama and Sister, and the thought of Linnaeus, alone in the distance and the darkness, made her cry. Her body was so tired of the motion of the train; her back and knees hurt from all the sitting. She lost count of the days they’d been gone. What if Hattie was not able to persuade the school authorities to let her go live with Sister Salt? What if Hattie gave up and left her at the school? The school authorities never intended to let her go home. Tears filled her eyes when she thought of Sister Salt, dragged away with the others considered too old and unruly for school. Yet she could not think of Sister without remembering her fierce will and her quick wits. Sister Salt would escape the first week. Indigo was so proud of her sister that her spirits lifted and she drifted off to sleep, recalling the fun she had with Linnaeus in the red garden with the pomegranate trees.

They changed trains in Chicago in the middle of the night. Indigo awoke as Edward carried her off the train, wrapped in a blanket in her nightgown. She was embarrassed to be close enough to smell Edward — not just the soap he washed with but his odor. He held her lightly as if he were afraid she would break; women carried her differently. She pretended to be asleep and kept her eyes shut tight as they moved along the crowded platforms until they found the train and their car.

Hattie and Indigo spent much of the remainder of the trip in the observation car with the garden books open in their laps as they gazed out the train windows for glimpses of gardens and parks that resembled those illustrated in the books. The closer they came to their destination, the more Hattie’s spirits and the spirits of the child soared.

Edward was relieved to have the parlor compartment to himself the better part of the day as he completed the statement his attorney requested concerning the circumstances of the failed expedition on the Pará River. He consulted his journal for the details from the beginning.

This morning the winds on the great river were high and against us; we were obliged to keep in port a great part of the day, which I employed in little excursions round our encampment. The live oaks are of astonishing magnitude, and one tree contains a prodigious quantity of timber, yet comparatively, they are not tall, even in these forests, where, growing on firm ground, in company with others of great altitude (such as Fagus sylvatica, Liquidambar, Magnolia grandiflora, and the high Palm tree), they strive while young to be on an equality with their neighbors.

The journal entries made no mention of the clandestine itinerary of the expedition; indeed, his attorney advised him to maintain his ignorance of Vicks’s mission on the Pará River. All final preparations for the expedition had been made by Lowe & Company when Edward received a telegram from Lowe & Company with news of the last-minute changes that were necessary.

Originally the plan called for Edward to travel alone; Lowe & Company was keen on modest overhead with high returns to their investors. Business was conducted discreetly; buyers or their agents made their requests, and Lowe & Company contracted with independent plant hunters like himself to go into the field to obtain the specimens. This time, however, the consortium of prospective buyers insisted their representative, Mr. Eliot, go along.

During his student years Edward financed his tours to distant and exotic locations by the resale of rare plants and other curiosities he found in public markets. From a trip to Honduras he brought home a lovely Oncidium sphacelatum for his mother’s collection. How delighted she had been as the plant was unpacked and settled in its hanging basket of bark and moss. It was a robust plant with light green leaves; the flower spike that later emerged was nearly three feet long and well branched; the flowers opened in quick succession and lasted for weeks.

His mother had been so excited the morning the first buds opened, she called him to the glass house to see her “dancing ladies” in their yellow ball gowns, bright red vests, and elaborate tiaras of chocolate brown and butter yellow. The orchid thrived and became a special favorite of his mother.

From that time on, when he collected wild orchids for his mother’s collection, he brought back a few extra plants to sell to collectors of her acquaintance. His first sale to other collectors had been specimens of Brassavola nodosa he brought back from Guatemala. The orchid was always a favorite because of the heavenly fragrance of its odd white flowers resembling wild swans in flight. His mother lost her specimen to overwatering. Sadly, the loss of this orchid was followed by others as his mother compulsively watered the orchids in the days that followed his father’s funeral.

Mr. Albert of Lowe & Company assured him the company had complete confidence in him as a field collector of wild orchids; however, due to the substantial sums at stake, the investors had requested their man come along. Edward assumed the man would be one of the hybridizers who wished to go see for himself the natural habitat of the orchids. Although Edward preferred to travel alone, he had no objection to traveling companions. The list of orchid specimens wanted was quite extensive, and Edward could use the assistance.

When he first traveled the jungle rivers twenty years before, a splendid profusion of wild orchid flowers could be seen along the riverbanks, and specimens were easily gathered. But the orchid mania swept in, and though it ebbed, it did not subside; over the years the demand for wild orchids used by hybridizers made the plants increasingly scarce and difficult to obtain.

Ordinarily, Edward made his own travel arrangements at his own expense; he went alone to enjoy the exotic beauties and curiosities in the solitude of the forests and mountains. He brought along a list of plant material desired by his private clients, wealthy collectors in the east and in Europe. The sales of the specimens he collected ensured that he did not deplete his capital. But during 1893, shocking setbacks had occurred for many investors, and Edward suffered significant losses on the stock market. The remote destination and the magnitude of the specimens sought on the Pará River required far more of a cash outlay than he could afford; so Lowe & Company agreed to advance a large sum to outfit the expedition.

Edward was to receive a generous honorarium, and it was understood he might collect as many specimens for himself as he wished, but he was in no position to object to additional members of the expedition. Mr. Eliot might be helpful with the labeling and packing of the specimens.

The other addition to the Pará River expedition was far more unsettling; Mr. Vicks was an Englishman who came by special request of the Department of Agriculture in cooperation with officials at the Kew Gardens. Mr. Albert swore Edward to secrecy because Mr. Vicks was on a special mission for Her Majesty’s government and time was of the essence. A virus, rubber tree leaf blight, was destroying Britain’s great Far Eastern rubber plantations. Mr. Vicks’s mission was to obtain disease-resistant specimens of rubber tree seedlings from their original source, the lowland drainages of the Pará River. It was imperative Kew Gardens obtain specimens that resisted and survived the leaf blight so stricken plantations in the Far East might be replanted with resistant trees. Otherwise the supplies of cheap natural rubber would be lost to England and the United States; Brazil would enjoy a world monopoly of rubber once more.

The problem was, all British horticulturists were denied entry visas to Brazil because twenty-five years earlier, diplomatic feathers had been ruffled when Henry Wickham smuggled seventy thousand rubber tree seeds past Brazilian customs officers to break Brazil’s monopoly of natural rubber. Only three thousand seedlings were obtained from the seeds by the Kew Gardens, but they were enough to open up vast rubber plantations in Malaya and Ceylon.

Before Wickham’s daring feat, Brazil and her Portuguese godfathers had jealously guarded their rubber monopoly. Twice before Wickham, agents sent out by Kew Gardens were arrested by the Brazilian authorities in possession of hundreds of Hevea brasiliensis seedlings. Clever Wickham chartered a riverboat and smuggled the seeds hidden in Indian baskets; for his daring, Wickham was knighted by the queen.

Since that time, any foreigner found in possession of rubber tree seeds or seedlings was arrested immediately. Thus, as an extra precaution, Vicks traveled under a U.S. passport specially prepared for the mission. The Brazilians and Portuguese would be delighted if the British rubber plantations all were destroyed. The leaf blight virus might well restore Brazil’s world monopoly on natural rubber.

Mr. Albert assured Edward Mr. Vicks would be no bother; researchers in Surinam learned deserted rubber plantations were the best sources of disease-resistant specimens. While Edward and Mr. Eliot went out to collect orchid specimens, Vicks would travel by canoe to abandoned rubber stations upriver.

The Pará estuaries teemed with unimaginably diverse animal and plant life; monkeys, colorful parrots, and cascades of rare orchid flowers were not all; the Pará River was the only habitat of the Hevea brasiliensis, the most important source of natural rubber in the world.

Hevea brasiliensis, the Caoutchouc Tree, the Pará Rubber Tree, sixty to one hundred thirty feet tall in native sites, floodplains in the watersheds of the Amazon and Orinoco Rivers. Leaflets elliptic, two to twenty-four inches long, thick and leathery. Seeds used as food by natives; the milky juice is the best and most important source of natural rubber.

Edward read over his notes with a growing sense of regret; he felt uneasy about additional companions so near the departure, but he trusted the judgment of Mr. Albert and the company, so Edward did not object.

He had more misgivings after his two companions were introduced: Eliot was a large sullen man who might be mistaken for a prizefighter were it not for the finely tailored white linen suit he wore. Vicks was small and dapper, but his eyes did not meet Edward’s when they were introduced. Mr. Albert produced the list of the rare orchids they were to collect, and Edward realized Mr. Eliot knew little or nothing about orchids. Eliot interrupted Edward’s descriptions of the orchids’ habitats to ask frivolous questions about the wet seasons and the dry seasons. The first time Eliot behaved rudely, Edward looked at Mr. Albert, who returned his gaze; after the second interruption Mr. Albert looked down at the list of orchids, cleared his throat, but said nothing.

Mr. Eliot and Mr. Vicks shut themselves in their cabins before the steamship sailed, and Edward did not see them again until St. Augustine, where Mr. Eliot emerged reeking of rum and accompanied the first mate downtown. Mr. Vicks continued to take his meals alone in his cabin. The weather and currents were favorable and the steamship reached Port-of-Spain in near-record time. Edward’s misgivings about his companions gradually waned as he savored the beauty of the lush islands of emerald green in a sea of topaz. He stood at the ship’s stern for hours on end, damp with ocean mist, to look down at the subtle shifts of color in the transparent water until he saw an unfamiliar hue. He collected the seawater in a bucket tied to a long rope, then examined the water for rare algae or mosses under the microscope. He was so contented with his algae and mosses he gave little or no thought to Eliot and Vicks. They scarcely acknowledged one another if they happened to meet on the deck. Edward relaxed; it was as if he were traveling alone.

The weather and currents were favorable and the steamship reached Pará on schedule. Their luggage was transferred to a mule-drawn cart that rattled down the planks of the dock to the small river steamer hired for the expedition up the Pará River. The boat captain was a gregarious Frenchman who insisted his distinguished passengers join him in a toast to the success of their journey, which was followed by another toast for favorable weather. The cabin boy refilled their glasses a third time and the captain made a toast to the saints to protect them from savage beasts and Indians. Edward was more worried about the boat’s three crewmen, blackened with coal dust, who skulked up from the boiler room to gawk at their passengers before they disappeared below.

Once the riverboat was under way, Edward began to unpack and assemble his traveling laboratory. The boat was to serve as their headquarters while they made excursions on foot and by canoe into the jungle. The rainy season was past and the air was warm and relatively dry — just the conditions that favored the flowering of wild orchids. As the river narrowed Edward spent hours in a deck chair, where he was able to scan the banks with the aid of his binoculars.

Orchids were rare in the dense forests of the lowlands, except in treetops and precipitous rocks above deep ravines and rivers. Few orchids liked deep shade — those few were those with green or white flowers; the colorful orchids came from sunnier, more open terrain. Edward scanned the list of orchids wanted by the consortium of hybridizers and noted which were winter blooming and must be collected now; the others, which bloomed in the spring and summer, could be collected last. These latter genera were the Laelia and Cattleya much sought by hybridizers, who wanted the rich colors of the Laelia flower but with the robust size and graceful shape of the Cattleya flower.

The Laelia crispa had large fragrant white flowers with yellow-and-purple lips on a rather long stem. The hybridizers were interested in making a fragrant Cattleya, so the list included a number of specimens unproven in hybridization but wanted for the fragrance they might contribute to the hybrid that growers dreamed of. Edward was most concerned about this specimen because it did not bloom until summer, uncomfortably near the end of their time on the Pará.

The Laelia purpurata circled on the list was sought by the hybridizers for its huge, eight-inch flowers of white suffused with rose, and rich velvety purple on its bell-shaped lip. The purpurata bloomed in the spring and Edward was confident he could obtain enough specimens before their departure. Also at the top of the list was Laelia cinnabarina; though not large, this orchid was prized by hybridizers for its bright rich red-orange blossoms shaped like stars. Scarce because it was much sought after by collectors and hybridizers, the cinnabarina bloomed from spring to late autumn, which made the plant somewhat easier to locate.

Edward was surprised to see Cattleya labiata near the top of the list because only a few years before, a great many C. labiata had been found and were purchased by two different investment companies, one Belgian, the other British. A dispute arose over which company had the true C. labiata, and when word came from scientists that all the specimens were true Cattleya labiata, the price of an individual plant fell from $20 to $1 and a number of private investors were ruined.

The Indians and their canoes were waiting on the riverbank when the steamer chugged into the village of Portal. The Indians were familiar with the orchid trade, and two men carried a moss-covered limb with a fine specimen of Oncidium papilio, with a long flower spike of bright orange-and-yellow flowers the shape of big butterflies, the so-called butterfly orchid that set off orchid mania years before. The papilio did not grow indoors, so there was a steady demand for replacements of those that died of overwatering and the cold.

Now, the Indians knew the value of wild orchids, but frequently white brokers came upriver and demanded their entire stock of a species to corner the market. Indians who did not cooperate were flogged or tortured, much as they were at the Brazilian and Colombian rubber stations. These Indians worked for the French boat captain, who protected them from the violence of the brokers and agents; in return they sold him all of the best plants they found. Edward purchased the papilio from the Indians at the price set by the Frenchman — too expensive, really, but it was such a big, mature plant that Edward paid. The Frenchman offered to send his Indians out to gather every specimen on the list, but both Edward and Mr. Eliot declined.

Before dark, Edward followed the muddy track from the river into the old village of Portal, which was a rubber station in the early days of the rubber trade. Years ago the old village was burned during a dispute between rival rubber companies. The new business district of Portal sprang up along the riverbank and consisted of some ramshackle boats and rotting barges tied to big logs. Apparently the Frenchman owned these boats and barges as well and rented space to the merchants and traders for their establishments. Miners and plantation foremen from hundreds of miles around depended on Portal for food and supplies, delivered to distant outposts upriver by the Frenchman’s riverboats, the Louis XIII, the Louis XIV, and the Louis XV.

Portal had a violent history from its beginning as a rubber station where an Indian village once stood. All of those Indians were gone; the rubber station at Portal was infamous for the use of torture and killing to increase the output of the indentured Indians who gathered the wild rubber. Rivalry between the rubber buyers erupted into periodic raids and reprisal raids in which dozens of Indians and white and Negro overseers were killed. The Frenchman said the old town and rubber station had been burned to the ground twice before by rivals; the third time Portal burned, the rubber buyer retreated farther upriver. That was when the Frenchman got the idea for a new town, a floating town that could be moved up or down the river in times of danger or floated away to serve the rubber stations in other remote river locations.

The Indians who met the boat did not live here; they lived deep in the forest and were not as friendly as the Indians who once lived at Portal. Edward noticed even the structures not destroyed by fire appeared uninhabited; tree ferns and palms pushed up through roof joists. Inside the abandoned warehouses he passed, he heard noises of jungle creatures that crawled and roosted in the ruins. No wonder the old village site was thought to be haunted; Edward felt uneasy himself, as if someone or something were watching him. The brief twilight of the tropics began to give way to darkness and Edward felt a growing panic that sent him walking faster and faster until he was running for the riverbank.

The motley barges and boats of the floating town were brightly lit with lanterns hung from their decks and rigging to announce the cantina and dance hall, the grocery and dry goods stores were all open for business. The relative coolness of the night brought out mine and plantation foremen from miles away.

The bartender nodded at two young women, a Negro and a mulatto sitting nearby, but Edward quickly shook his head. A crudely lettered sign propped up by rum bottles announced that women were sold by the dance or by the night. The cantina boat and the dance hall barge were connected by a wide plank of wood; Edward bought a gin and sat at a table with a view of the dimly lit dance hall. Three couples moved sluggishly to the music of a large hurdy-gurdy cranked by a monkey chained to the leg of a table. The monkey turned the crank as long as the dancers refilled its tin dish with bits of dry bread, purchased from the bartender. When the tin dish was empty, the monkey let go of the crank and leaned against the hurdy-gurdy box to rest. Edward watched as the little creature’s fingers delicately rubbed its neck under the leather collar. One after the other, the dancing couples disappeared across the plank to the hotel barge. The monkey watched the dancers disappear, then looked hopefully in the direction of the cantina and Edward. Before he left, Edward bought a handful of dry bread from the bartender for the monkey’s dish; the monkey looked at him anxiously and for an instant their eyes met before Edward turned away.

The next morning they traveled in two canoes as dawn lighted the sky. At a fork in the river Mr. Vicks and the Frenchman took one canoe with two Indians to gather disease-resistant Hevea seedlings from an old stand of wild rubber trees the Indians knew. Mr. Eliot and Edward went with the two Indian boys, neither more than twelve years old but already familiar with dozens of wild epiphytic orchids found only at the tops of the highest trees. On each side of the river the great trees towered out of sight in a canopy of foliage. Lianas hung from the branches, interwoven to form webs of coiling vines.

Edward watched closely. Sometimes a tree appeared covered with orchid blossoms that thrived on the lianas. Climbing ferns and vanilla clung to the trunks, and epiphytes graced the branches. Large arums sent down long aerial roots the Indians used for ropes. In the undergrowth different species of palms grew among the tree ferns, whose feathery crowns were twenty feet above the ground. Great broad leaf heliconias, leathery Melastoma, and succulent broadleaf begonias grew all around; Cecropia trees had a ghostly presence with their white stems and large white palmated leaves that stood straight up like candelabras. Sometimes the riverbank was carpeted with flower petals of yellow, pink, and white fallen from some invisible treetop. The air was filled with a delicious perfume, but in all the overshadowing greenery no source was visible.

The Indians knew exactly where to take the canoes in the branching estuaries; they knew where to find the Cattleya violacea by its fragrance. That afternoon Edward and Mr. Eliot returned with the canoes full of lovely rose-purple flowers with a round ruffled front lobe marked with a patch of vibrant yellow streaked with purple. Eliot assisted him with the labeling and packing of the day’s collection, and Edward could not help but notice how little Mr. Eliot knew about wild orchids; moreover, Mr. Eliot evidenced no interest in observing the natural habitats of the specimens. While Edward stood at the foot of the great trees to catch the specimens the Indians climbed for, Mr. Eliot napped in the canoe with a bottle of rum between his legs. Mr. Eliot did count the specimens twice and note the number in a small notebook he carried in his breast pocket.

Later Mr. Eliot invited Edward to join him at the cantina, but soon disappeared onto the hotel barge with a giggling mulatto girl. A Negress in a bright red dress joined Edward at the table, but when he offered to buy her a drink, she said she was off duty and only wanted some conversation. She was Jamaican by birth, she said, and if she didn’t die of some fever or go crazy from boredom she would be rich when she left the Pará. Already she had saved thousands for the store she would open in her village back on the island.

Edward told her a bit about the expedition, but she shook her head; she didn’t care at all for those orchids. They might be costly but the flowers were shaped like giant insects and they were hardly fragrant. She much preferred roses and gardenias. She daintily patted her forehead with a linen handkerchief and he noticed she wore a gardenia blossom on a white satin ribbon at her wrist. He admired the large blossom and she held her wrist to her face and closed her eyes with a big smile as she savored the fragrance. She said she was never without a gardenia because its perfume wards off yellow fever. Some nights the huge jungle moths hovered near her flower; they seemed to recognize her, she said.

The monkey watched them hopefully; the Negress laughed and went and untied the monkey and brought the little creature to sit on the table. People there believed the monkey was good luck, she said; some years ago only the monkey survived the massacre at the rubber station. The monkey was found in the same tree the attackers hung the monkey’s dead master, a rubber station foreman. The monkey was specially trained to perform many tasks, so the Frenchman bought the monkey from the police inspector who investigated the crimes. In no time the monkey learned to crank the music box. That happened before the Negress came to work for the Frenchman, but everyone knew the story.

When Edward stood up to go, the Negress carried the monkey back to the music box and retied the leash. Edward paid the bartender and put a piece of bread in the monkey’s dish on his way out. The little creature’s eyes brightened and it immediately began turning the crank with one hand while it ate the bread.

Sleep was impossible in the small steamy cabin, so Edward joined the others and hung his hammock and mosquito netting on the deck outside his cabin beside the crewmen and the others. The decks were lined with smoldering pots of a fragrant jungle wood to keep away the mosquitoes and bloodsucking insects. The hurdy-gurdy music, the sounds of laughter, and occasional screams and arguments filtered through the constant low hum of the jungle: the rustle of countless serpents, the squeaks and groans of dying prey, with the whir of giant winged beetles and the flutter of great moths at the lanterns. The riverboat deck, draped in netting with hammocks full of sleeping men, reminded Edward of a spider’s prey, bound and stored in the web.

One night two weeks after their arrival in Portal, the sound of gunshots woke Edward. Heart pounding, he held his breath and listened for more gunfire and for the sounds he imagined at the massacre and burning of old Portal; but he heard only the hum of the jungle. The next morning the cantina and stores were strangely deserted and the hurdy-gurdy was silent. The little monkey was gone. When Edward reached the riverbank, the canoes were gone and the Indians nowhere to be seen; none of the equipment or day’s supply of water and provisions were loaded either. Mr. Eliot paced up and down the riverbank, cursing the Indians and the Frenchman. Just then the Frenchman came, panting and red faced, followed by Mr. Vicks, who appeared calm. The Frenchman carried the little monkey tucked under his arm like a parcel as he gesticulated wildly with his free arm and hand. Nothing to fear, nothing to fear, the Frenchman repeated. The hundreds of rubber tree seedlings already collected were safe in their temporary nursery on the riverbank. A gang of thugs sent by the Frenchman’s enemies raided the cantina and stores the night before to disrupt his business. Bullet holes in the hull caused the Louis XIII to leak a bit, but no one was wounded. The Indians who worked for him fled into the jungle because they feared a raid like the one that destroyed the old village.

Presently two young mestizo men appeared; they loaded the supplies and the machetes and shovels into the canoes. His sons, the Frenchman said proudly, would come along to help complete the collection of Hevea seedlings. The Frenchman lifted the monkey into the canoe with Edward and Mr. Eliot.

“Here is your assistant,” he said, grinning broadly as he tied the leash inside the canoe. Point out the plant desired, and the monkey climbed to it and carefully scooped up the orchid bulb, roots and all, in tree moss.

Mr. Eliot laughed but Edward was not amused.

“I can’t very well show the monkey the orchid I want when I can’t see the tops of trees,” Edward said in an indignant tone.

Clearly the Frenchman thought the Hevea seedlings of Mr. Vicks and the prestigious Kew Gardens more worthy of his attention than the orchids. His suggestion that a monkey could gather the orchids was quite insulting really. Fortunately he and Vicks had only four orchid species yet to gather, and of the four, only the Laelia cinnabarina specimens were required in any number.

“But you have last week’s plants, the Cattleya, non?” The Frenchman claimed it was only necessary to show the monkey an orchid of the same species and the little creature would bring back all the orchids he could find. That was nonsense, of course, but Edward knew the only way to quiet the Frenchman was to do as he said. While they finished loading the canoes, Edward returned to his cabin to fetch specimens of Cattleya and Laelia; these, combined with the field handbook with color plates of wild orchids, would be enough to show to the Frenchman’s sons, who might be persuaded to climb the immense trees if they were paid handsomely.

Once he showed Vicks and the boys the rubber tree seedlings to dig from a wild grove, the Frenchman, with the monkey on his arm, joined Mr. Eliot and Edward in a clearing.

“Show him what you want!” The Frenchman nodded at the two specimens Edward brought out of the knapsack. The monkey examined each plant closely, carefully fingering the waxy flowers and leathery leaves of the pseudobulbs with the tips of his fingers. Then suddenly the little creature darted off and scampered across a mossy log and up a tree fern, where he disappeared into the jungle canopy.

The monkey was gone for nearly an hour; the Frenchman and Mr. Eliot sat in the canoe sipping rum from a bottle while Edward brought out the orchid field guide with the tinted lithographs to refresh his memory of the rare orchid specimens that remained to be gathered after the Laelia cinnnabarina. The monkey returned from the opposite direction he departed, with two fine orchid plants in his arms. Edward was dubious, but the little creature extracted the plants without damage except for a flower or two lost from the trailing spikes of blossoms. The Frenchman gave the monkey shelled walnuts each time he brought back orchids.

Once the monkey located the orchids high in the treetops, he moved much faster than any man. A number of the orchids the monkey collected were not needed and as cargo space was limited, those orchid plants were tossed aside. Edward had to admit the monkey did the work of two men. By midafternoon, all that remained to be collected was the small, rare orchids and the Laelia cinnabarina, which grew in the same habitat. Vicks collected the last orchid specimens he needed, and the following day, while Vicks and others finished packing the seedlings in burlap, the Frenchman took Mr. Eliot and Edward farther up the river to precipitous granite ridges cut by the river and bathed in the sunshine that gave the Laelia cinnabarina her rich colors.

The pale granite cliff with its cascades of wild orchid blossoms above the river mist was so lovely Edward knew he must photograph it. He brought along his tripod and camera despite the bulk for just this sort of location. The dimness of the light under the jungle canopy had precluded photography up until then.

Edward noticed his companions also were preoccupied these last days of the expedition. Mr. Vicks spent much of his time at the temporary nursery where the rubber tree seedlings in their burlap sacks were being carefully concealed inside rolls of woven straw matting for the long voyage. There were reasons for making haste. The Frenchman claimed to receive tips on plots against him by his enemies; he said very soon these criminals might force him to untie his barges and boats and relocate the town downriver. His spies reported growing suspicion among government officials in Belém, who heard rumors of foreigners in possession of Hevea seedlings.

On the last morning they went to collect the Laelia cinnabarina, Mr. Eliot was late and they were forced to wait for him in the canoe. The Frenchman brought along the monkey for any orchids they might find on inaccessible rock ledges. Fortunately the weather continued to be dry so the mosquitoes were scarce while they waited for their colleague. How odd that Mr. Eliot should be late on the morning they set out for the Laelia cinnabarina. Mr. Eliot showed little knowledge or interest in orchids except for the Laelia cinnabarina. He seemed to be aware of the latest developments by orchid hybridizers who sought to create a fragrant bright red orchid to rival the English rose.

What could be the delay? When Eliot came, he was sweating and short of breath from the burden of the bulging knapsack’s contents. As Eliot set it on the floor of the canoe, Edward felt the craft list with the weight of the knapsack and he heard the clink of glass bottles against one another inside the knapsack. Bottles of rum, Edward assumed, though he learned later Mr. Eliot brought along something more volatile than rum.

The monkey was not as fleet gathering the Laelia cinnabarina from the granite crags and ledges, so the Frenchman helped Mr. Eliot and Edward gather specimens of cinnabarina all morning, and by three o’clock they had more than the two hundred robust specimens requested by the consortium of orchid hybridizers. While the monkey watched them carefully wrap the specimens in damp moss and burlap, Edward hiked up the ridge with his camera.

Edward had a clear view of the river and riverbank for a mile in either direction as he climbed. He carried his camera case and tripod up the ledges and over the boulders to make photographs of the amazing granite hillside where hundreds of Cattleya and Laelia sent out long pendulous flower spikes. Because of the steep incline and the weight of his equipment he stopped periodically to catch his breath and to survey the endless expanses of jungle and the great Pará River as it snaked to the sea.

He stopped and attached the close-up lens so he could photograph a particularly profuse spike of red-orange blossoms of a Laelia cinnabarina that appeared to grow out of solid granite on the side of the ridge. He was glad the monkey had not found this specimen. As he viewed the orchid flower through the close-up lens, he savored the sublime, luminous glow from the profuse orange-red blossoms that resembled shooting stars. He made exposures of each subject, careful to double-check the lens setting for perfect photographs.

They had agreed they must start back at five; Edward checked his watch and glanced back down at his companions, white specks far below. He had another hour to make photographs and he wanted to make the most of the opportunity because he had not made as many photographs of the wild orchids as he originally hoped. Here the light was lovely, but the steep terrain required numerous adjustments to each leg of the tripod before the camera was level. After the exposure he carefully repacked each glass plate in its padded slot in the camera box. He was so immersed in making photographs he lost sight of the antlike figures of his companions on the riverbank.

He was near the top of the granite ledge with the river hundreds of yards below when he stopped to change lenses for a wide-angle view of the granite cliff face with hundreds of wild orchids in flower. The subtle fragrance of hundreds of orchid blossoms wafted in the cool air rising off the mist from the river. As he attempted to focus the image on the camera’s ground glass, he noticed the first gray feather of smoke, followed by another and another. He stepped back from the camera, unable to believe what he saw, when suddenly a greasy black ball of smoke rolled into the sky followed by spidery blossoms of red-orange flame.

This was the dry season, but the forest floor and the lianas and mosses were still moist and green. How could a wildfire break out? He felt the hair on his neck bristle as the plumes of smoke rose higher. Where were Eliot and the Frenchman? Edward quickly removed the lens board and film holder; he shut the camera and replaced it in its box. He slipped the carrying strap over his right shoulder and carried the folded tripod over his left shoulder. He made his way down the slope as quickly as he could. He still did not see his companions, but he saw the canoe safe on the riverbank.

The fire spread quickly and he could hear the birds and parrots screech out alarms. He was beginning to feel winded but he pushed himself on because he feared the flames might cut off his path to the canoe. He regretted the bulk of the camera box and the tripod on the steep slope of rotting granite where the footing was treacherous. The ridge was formed by folds of rock that made terraces and ledges, so the path down to the river, though steep, was not difficult to follow. He stopped again to search, in vain, for a glimpse of his companions.

Edward made his way down the granite ridge cautiously despite his fear of the fire. He was more than two-thirds of the way down the slope when he paused to catch his breath and adjust the camera box and tripod. It was then he saw a strange sight: Mr. Eliot was running madly along the riverbank with his knapsack in one hand, spilling the contents of a bottle over the shrubbery with the other hand. When one bottle was emptied he threw it down and reached into the knapsack for another. For an instant, Edward was confused; he thought Eliot was dumping his precious rum; but when he saw the greasy black flames rise into the trees behind his companion, Edward realized the liquid Eliot splashed over the ground and shrubs was lamp oil, not rum.

Edward began to shout at Eliot, who was too far away to hear; the flames were spreading, and Edward realized the fire had cut off his only path to the canoe. He shouted, but the roar of the fire drowned out everything; he gamely held on to the camera box and used the tripod as a walking stick, but suddenly he lost his footing and fell. He did not lose consciousness during the fall, and he never forgot the odd sensation of weightlessness as he fell — quite strange but not unpleasant. He might have escaped this misadventure with only minor cuts and bruises, but the camera box fell against the leg on the rock with a terrible crunching sound. Shattered bone pierced the skin; blood soaked the leg of his trousers, but he felt only the great weight of the numb limb pulling him down as he leaned on the camera box to call out again and again for Eliot and for the Frenchman. Surely they would come to find him when he did not return to the canoe.

Now the fire, fueled by the natural oils of the jungle trees and shrubs, exploded ahead of the flames and sent geysers of fire into the sky. He managed to drag himself into a rock cranny between two boulders just before the wall of flames flashed up the ridge.

The pain woke him from a dream that his leg was burning; in the fading darkness before dawn, bright orange coals still glowed and occasionally flames flared behind the thin veils of white smoke that rose from the legions of blackened tree trunks and the gray skeletons of tree ferns and shrubs. He listened for some sound that might indicate his companions were nearby. He called out their names again and again until the pain in his leg made him feel nauseous and faint.

When he woke again, the sun was just above the horizon. He pulled himself up so he could survey his position; he had come down the ridge and was within a hundred yards of the river below when he fell. The blackened jungle was silent and motionless and Edward felt a chill of horror spread over him: the sunny river’s-edge habitat of the lovely Laelia and their kinsmen the Cattleya and Brassavola now lay in ashes.

Nausea swept over him and a cold sweat broke over his body as he recalled his initial misgivings about Eliot and Vicks. Was Vicks with his contraband Hevea seedlings a part of this scheme as well? How careless of Mr. Albert and Lowe & Company to allow the investors to interfere, though surely they had no idea of the true nature of Mr. Eliot’s mission. Now it was clear: Eliot’s only purpose on the expedition was the fire; the fire had been planned months before by the investors, who wished to make certain they possessed the only specimens of Laelia cinnabarina. They wanted no unpleasant surprises from rivals to drive down the price of the Laelia cinnabarina. Rival hybridizers would be stymied when they sent out their plant collectors now that this Pará River site was destroyed. Habitats for the Laelia and Cattleya had been disappearing rapidly since the early forties. Now orchid hunters would be forced to go even farther up estuaries too overgrown and narrow even for canoes, where only a few specimens might be found.

As he descended the ridge, he lost sight of the canoe on the riverbank. Surely the Frenchman had seen the smoke and escaped the flames. The fire might have driven them away temporarily, but they would return to search for him as soon as possible. He had suspected Eliot was a scoundrel from the start, but he believed he could rely on Mr. Vicks, who, after all, was affiliated with the Kew Gardens.

Anger suffused his body, and the pain receded. This was an outrage! At the very least, Lowe & Company badly misused him by sending him out with that criminal Eliot; at worst, they had betrayed him, and now the criminals had left him for dead! He was used as a decoy in the service of scoundrels, though he did not see Vicks in quite the same light because he smuggled the disease-resistant seedlings for a noble purpose.

The fire burned the dry sunny exposures preferred by the Cattleya and Laelia but burned itself out once it reached the deeply shaded damp foliage. The jungle canopy, untouched by fire, came alive as the sun rose above it; the screeching and calling of the parrots and macaws rose to a crescendo, then gradually receded as the morning got hotter. Surely Mr. Vicks would insist search parties be sent out as soon as it was daylight. Edward knew he had to reach the riverbank or his rescuers would never see him on the hillside or hear his voice over the noise of the rushing water.

Carefully he slit the leather and removed the field boot from the injured limb; the leg seemed as if it was a separate object, not his own, with no relation to the pain that left him sweating and nauseous. He removed the bootlace and his belt, pausing from time to time to let the nausea subside. He gingerly maneuvered the leg until it lay parallel to the tripod, then he lashed the leg to the tripod with the bootlace and belt. He knew it was imperative the leg remain immobile, or bone fragments might sever an artery.

Inch by inch he crawled, pushing aside rocks and debris so the injured limb he dragged would have a clear path. He was soothed by this contact with the earth and her gravity that held him close with no danger of a fall. The limb was numb now and the pain seemed to migrate to his other leg, then to his shoulders and arms. After what seemed like hours, he reached the riverbank, though he still was some distance upriver from the site of the temporary camp where the canoes were tied. He was very thirsty by then; the canteen with safe water and the packet of purification tablets were lost somewhere on the hillside, but he knew that to drink untreated river water invited fever and illness more grave than any broken limb. The sun was high overhead now; his rescuers should be along soon.

He dreamed about the white marble pool and fountain in his sister’s garden; in the dream he drank and drank the cool pure water to satisfy his thirst. Others at the garden party were sipping champagne, and among them, oddly enough, relaxed as if she belonged, was the Negress from the cantina with the little monkey in her arms. One of the guests, an older man he did not recognize, approached and warned him the water was not safe. He offered Edward a glass of champagne, but suddenly the Negress bared one breast to him and the voices of the other guests called out, “Drink! Drink!”

He woke when he realized the voices in his dream were voices on the river; frantically he called, but from his prone position his cries were muffled by the vegetation and the rush of the river. He must pull himself up now or he was lost. With all his will, with all his remaining strength, he pulled himself up into sitting position and yelled again. Surely the canoes that paddled against the upriver currents could not pass by so quickly; but it was no use; he could see nothing. The rescue party would pass a last time on their return trip downriver. Stand up or die, a voice inside him said. He braced himself against a fallen tree and managed to stand if he leaned back hard against the tree; the trouble was the surrounding foliage would allow rescuers only a glimpse of him as the current of the river sped their canoes past.

Just when he thought he could no longer endure the pain of standing, the canoes came into sight and he began to shout and wave his arms, though each motion caused a blinding pain to shoot up the leg and through his body to his forehead. They were not far away. He could see them clearly; each of the Frenchman’s mestizo sons commanded a canoe manned with Indian paddlers. From the banter and laughter between the canoes, they might have been on a holiday; Edward tried to yell with all his might at the top of his voice but managed only a hoarse croak; all the calling he’d done previously and the dryness of his mouth left him mute. Balanced precariously on his one good leg, Edward waved wildly with one arm and then the other, but it was no use; the laughing men in the canoes were passing bunches of bananas back and forth, eating the fruit and tossing the peels into the water.

His associates thought so little of him they had not even bothered to come along with the search parties, he realized bitterly. The first canoe was nearly out of sight and the other was moving away swiftly, and all he could do was wave helplessly.

He slumped to the ground after he lost sight of the canoes. He was sweating and dizzy from the exertion and from the pain in the limb. Fortunately the leg did not seem to be infected, but he knew time was running out. He regretted he had not broken open the camera, for its shutter mirror he might have used to flash signals to the passing canoes. Surely the search parties would not abandon their task so easily.

He felt so much better when he was lying on the ground; he must get a good rest before he stood up again. He pulled off his shirt and wrapped it around his face and head to keep off the mosquitoes and flies while he slept. Thirst tormented him with dreams of clear running streams and deep clear pools of fresh water; he had gone nearly twenty-four hours without water. If he was not rescued by late afternoon he knew he must risk dysentary and fever with a swallow of river water or he would die of thirst. He dreamed of crystalline cascading streams as cold as the snow that fed them from the peaks of the Sierra Nevadas where his father took him to fish for trout. He was kneeling along the trout stream about to take a sip of cool water when he heard his father’s voice call him. He wanted a swallow of water so badly he hesitated to stand up and answer his father. Then in his dream he remembered his father died years before, and he thought how odd that a dead man should call him.

He woke from a dream that he had fallen in the river and was choking on the greenish waters, but the water kept flowing into his mouth and splashing over his face. He had to wipe the water from his eyes to squint in the bright sunlight at his rescuers, gathered in a half circle around him. The instant he recognized the faces of the Frenchman’s sons he began to babble his gratitude. Over and over he thanked them, but the handsome young mestizos both shook their heads modestly and looked at their feet; no, the señor should not give his thanks to them because really they had given up the search and were on their way home. They said his friends thought he died in the fire; their father sent them to bury his remains and bring back any valuables. Luckily they brought along a helper, the mestizo brother said with a big grin on his face; thank the helper, not them! At that moment his brother lifted something off his shoulder and set it on the ground. The little monkey nervously fingered its red leather collar and looked up from face to face all around until its gaze fell on Edward.

Apparently, the monkey jumped around in the canoe and looked back toward the riverbank to signal it had seen someone or something unusual. They turned back to investigate but at first they could not see him; but again the little monkey chattered and refused to return to the canoes. Finally they came to catch him and found Edward lying unconscious.

The mestizo brothers prepared to administer first aid to prevent infection in the injured limb. They spoke soothingly as they opened knapsacks and removed various implements and a bottle; tribal healing remedies, he thought. The mestizo brothers talked to take his attention from the pain as they cut away the trousers and stocking to expose the injuries. One brother poured kerosene into the wounds on his leg from a glass bottle identical to the bottles Eliot had carried in his knapsack. Edward’s shocked expression as he watched the kerosene pour into the wounds caused the brothers to reassure Edward kerosene would kill everything that might try to infect the wounds. Kerosene was used for everything here; even the old-time tribal medicine people swore by kerosene for injuries, infections, and infestations of lice or ticks. The mestizo brothers were smiling broadly by the time the bottle of kerosene had been emptied over the wounds on his leg. Edward nodded grimly at his jolly physicians and drank more water from the canteen the mestizo brothers gave him. It was not until he emptied the canteen and asked for more water that he saw them casually dip the canteen into the river. His rescuers noticed the odd expression on his face when they gave him the full canteen, so again they tried conversation to soothe their patient.

One Indian had to ride in the other canoe to make way for the injured leg. The little monkey rode on the canoe’s bow, watching the riverbanks ahead. The water revived Edward, and he was able to raise himself up in the canoe with the injured leg straight out ahead of him. The mestizo brothers praised the little monkey; if it had been them alone, they would not have turned back upriver again. This was summer festival week and they were in a hurry to get back for the revelry that night.

The other brother passed Edward the bottle of rum that went back and forth between the canoes; the burning mouthful brought tears to his eyes when he swallowed it. The mestizo brothers and the Indians let out whoops of celebration. Edward was surprised to feel his spirits lift despite the pain. His rescuers were elated to find him alive and broke out another bottle of rum to celebrate. They composed a triumphant song they sang at the tops of their voices.

“We saved the white man,” they sang; “we saved him with the help of the good luck monkey! Otherwise, the white would have died; yes, he would have died.”

His friends had departed that very morning at daybreak on the Louis XV downriver to Pará, the mestizo brothers told him. Edward was not prepared for such news and his face must have registered the shock, because the mestizo brothers became oddly apologetic about the behavior of his colleagues and tried to explain away their abandonment of him: they had to make the departure of a steamer for Havana and they thought he was dead. Yes, they were sorry but they could not wait. They had to go because the authorities were on their way to investigate reports of an English smuggler. With each bit of news, the pain in the leg stabbed harder and he was bathed in sweat. He vomited the river water, then lay back on the bottom of the canoe, shaken by the dry heaves.

When they reached Portal, the Indians carefully lifted him from the canoe and carried him to a hammock hanging on the deck of the Louis XIV. The mestizo brothers splinted the leg with parts of a broken chair wrapped with old silk stockings. They poured more kerosene over the leg and pronounced the wound clean, but they warned the leg might need a long time to mend. The brothers attended to all of his needs. They sponge-bathed him while he lay in the hammock, and found his valise with clean clothing and his own kit with tincture of Merthiolate, bandages and plasters, and, of course, tablets of aspirin and belladonna. They took turns feeding him bowls of hot fish soup and tea with odd leaves floating in the cup; for pain, they explained; the tea would help him sleep.

He closed his eyes but was still aware of the sounds and noise from the barges and riverboats nearby; he heard voices in the cantina and he heard the music box begin to play a waltz. He imagined his furry savior intently turning the crank as the Negress, in a red dress, danced with the elder of the mestizo brothers. Later he woke but could not tell if it was evening or early morning due to the lanterns shining along the decks of the boats and barges. He heard the sounds of hammering but they were not close by and he could see no one moving on the barges with the cantina and dance hall. The effort of lifting and turning his head toward the river left him tired and he lay back and closed his eyes again.

He slept heavily for hours and later recalled his physicians came twice to administer their special hot tea. But when he woke he immediately sensed something was different; the little monkey was tied to his valise under the hammock and the Louis XIII, which had been tied next to them, suddenly was gone. He pulled himself up for a better look and was shocked to see the barges and other river craft that formed the floating town were gone. Only the Louis XIV remained.

Edward saw and heard no one on board except for his rescuer, the monkey, who seemed happy to see him awaken. While he slept the entire town floated off to a new location, free of raids and tax authorities. The long sleep was a healing agent, just as the mestizo brothers said. Edward felt much better and was able to maneuver himself and the injured leg out of the hammock to reach the pair of crutches cleverly carved from branches of mahogany.

He untied the monkey and the little creature danced gaily about, chattering with what Edward imagined was gratitude. Together they sat on the shady side of the boat to share the cache of canned goods and fresh mangoes and guavas left by the mestizo brothers.

At night he allowed himself the luxury of a pot of hot tea, though the little kerosene cookstove was low on fuel. The monkey quickly learned to bring him a mango, then to toss the fruit peelings and pit into the river when he was finished. The floating town of Portal was gone. For six days he and the little monkey were the only occupants of the Louis XIV; the leg was much improved so long as he did not move about too much. There was ample water and food, but Edward agonized over the unknown fate of his remaining two boxes of orchid specimens. His “friends,” Eliot and Vicks, had taken all of his boxes along with them, the mestizo brothers assured him, except for the two boxes they overlooked. Edward was relieved to see the boxes contained Laelia cinnabarina specimens he collected the day before the accident.

The limb seemed to be healing safely as the mestizo brothers promised, although the healing required he sleep a great deal. He no longer bothered to tie the monkey, who curled up under the hammock while he slept. As each day passed he thought less and less about the past, even the immediate past, and focused only on this place and this time. When a rainstorm and wind threatened to flood the boxes of orchid specimens, he was able to balance himself on the crutches well enough to maneuver the boxes to safety without a thought of the future of the specimens or himself. Although he knew it was only six days, he felt as if he had been alone with the monkey for six months. He felt as if years had passed since his fateful introduction to Vicks and Eliot in the offices of Lowe & Company. Now when he recalled the preceding weeks of fieldwork with Eliot and even Vicks, he felt as if another person, not himself, had lived those weeks.

As he began to feel stronger, Edward passed the time reading; most of the books he brought were botanical texts about orchids and bromeliads — nothing he wanted to read now. He brought a volume of Shakespeare’s sonnets, but oddly the sonnets stirred up anxious feelings that left his heart pounding, so he set it aside for a delightful book about ornamental ponds.

On the eighth day, the monkey woke him with excited chattering, and he heard the chug-chug of a boat coming upriver. He expected to see the Louis XV round the bend in the river, but it was a Brazilian government boat with uniformed officers at the bow. Edward greeted them warmly and asked which of them was the doctor. They looked blankly at one another and then at the injured limb. They knew nothing about his companions or the accident; they were acting on information received weeks before. The officer was disappointed Edward was not the reported Englishman.

Once Edward identified himself, the senior officer wasted no time; he informed Edward he was under arrest for suspicion of smuggling forbidden plant material. They were quite polite and did not use the handcuffs; they helped him out of the hammock and the three of them assisted him on board their boat. They loaded his boxes and luggage into the police boat. He was so stunned by his arrest and the dizziness and nausea that followed his short trek to their boat, he failed to notice the error made by the police. Just as they reached Pará, Edward noticed the Frenchman’s little monkey tied to a handle on his big steamer trunk. The officers permitted Edward to bring the monkey along with him to the jail, and later the monkey accompanied him and the senior officer to the telegraph office across the street from the jail. Lowe & Company responded promptly with a generous advance to cover his medical expenses and all fines and legal fees. Ever discreet, Mr. Albert’s cablegram made no mention at all of Vicks or that scoundrel Eliot.

The local magistrate counted the money twice and ordered Edward’s immediate deportation; early the following morning, deckhands lifted his stretcher aboard the steamship bound for Miami by way of Havana. Edward tipped the captain and first mate handsomely to keep his two remaining crates of orchids away from the customs inspectors. The little monkey was safely hidden in a compartment of the steamer trunk until they were in open water.

“That was, by no means, the end of my ordeal,” Edward wrote in his statement to his attorney. “Within three days the ship encountered a violent storm and we all very nearly were lost; the ship’s cargo and luggage were dumped overboard by the terrified crewmen in futile efforts to appease the angry sea.

“All the orchid specimens in the remaining two crates were lost when the crates became soaked with salt water,” Edward concluded his account of the expedition requested by his lawyers.

Edward pressed down on his pen so firmly the tip of the nib snapped off and bounced across the floor. Hattie looked up from the book of monkey stories as Edward put away the pen and gathered his papers. They’d arrive at Grand Central station in less than an hour.

Indigo glanced out the window at the lush green countryside with the little settlements and farms; she was glad they were almost there because she was weary of the constant motion and the noise, and her back and legs were sore from sitting in the same place for hours at a time. She wanted to hear what happened next to the monkey born from an egg-shaped stone because nothing could harm the monkey. Even after Hattie closed the book, Indigo felt content to daydream about Monkey, able to change each of the eighty-four thousand hairs on his body into anything he wanted; the little monkey back in Riverside would escape all harm just like the monkey in the stories. Hattie promised when they reached New York they would have news from home and a full report on Linnaeus.