Gardens in the Dunes

Part Four

HATTIE SAW Father first and waved and called out; she was surprised at how much she had missed him, and pushed her way along the crowded platform to meet him. She embraced him and felt tears in her eyes, then saw him brush away tears of his own. Departure calls and blasts of steam and train whistles rudely punctuated their greeting. Hattie realized Edward and Indigo were caught in the crowd and she turned back anxiously to find them. The smoke and the smells and the noise were worse than she remembered them. Father saw Edward first and called out a booming welcome that caused Indigo to let go of Edward’s hand and stop. Almost before Edward could turn around, Indigo was caught in the tide of boarding passengers that whirled her around and swept her back toward the train.

Edward plunged into the crowd and pressed after the child before he lost sight of the top of her head; he called out her name but she seemed intent on reboarding the train. Boarding passengers behind her helped her up the train car steps ahead of them. Edward found her sitting in her place by the window in the compartment they had just vacated. He wished Hattie had come along because the child did not respond to him in the way she responded to Hattie. But as soon as he told Indigo that the train would take her farther away to the north, she stood up.

“I want to go home,” Indigo said.

“This is a dreadful noisy place. Perhaps if I carried you, you would feel safer,” he said tentatively, aware the child did not trust him as she trusted Hattie. She shook her head.

“I can walk!”

She squeezed his hand fiercely as they pushed through the crowd to the lobby, where Hattie and her father were waiting; their luggage was already loaded on the hired carriage for the ride to Oyster Bay.

Mr. Abbott saw Indigo’s big dark eyes scrutinize him. Hattie had written at length about the delightful child she and the pet monkey discovered in the garden one morning. He feared the lingering melancholy that had followed the thesis controversy might have resurfaced while Edward was away. What a difference the child made for Hattie!

Mr. Abbott was not surprised his new son-in-law sailed away almost immediately after a brief honeymoon, to collect algae and mosses in the Caribbean. Hattie applauded Edward’s dedication to his collections and said she would rewrite her manuscript while Edward was abroad. She claimed to prefer the solitude of their Riverside home. Still, Mr. Abbott noticed the tone of her letters home changed entirely after the Indian child was found; he felt a great deal of warmth toward the outspoken girl.

Once the coach was under way, Hattie asked if Indigo was afraid, and she shook her head: the giant depot with so many different trains and tracks filled her with hope somewhere nearby she might find a westbound train to Needles. Hattie and Edward both apologized for the noise and crowds on the platform, but this time Indigo did not remain silent; she told them noisy crowded train stations were the best because more tourists bought more baskets.

Indigo asked if they were far in the east, and Hattie said they were, but Edward added that they were going much farther east yet — across the ocean and as far east as Italy. Indigo reconsidered; if she demanded to be sent back to the school, she’d be locked in the mop closet all summer. She had a better chance of finding the Messiah and his followers if she continued to the east. Besides, Hattie promised, as soon as they returned from abroad, she’d take Indigo to Arizona to look for Sister Salt and Mama.

As the coach moved slowly through the crowded streets, Edward pointed out the window at a circus train unloading the elephants and camels. Indigo knelt on the carriage seat and stared out the window at the big steel cages of tigers and lions she had only previously seen on the pages of Hattie’s books. Crowds gathered around the circus train and lined the street already crowded with people hurrying along with no interest at all in the circus animals.

Indigo noticed something odd about the faces of the people crowding the street: they did not look at one another or greet one another as they passed. As the coach pulled away from the station, the tall buildings formed deep canyons and Indigo caught glimpses of an expanse of water nearby. The coach traveled a short distance before it stopped at the edge of the dark river.

While the luggage was transferred to the ferry, Hattie took Indigo by the hand to show her the city from the observation deck and to point out Long Island across the East River. Indigo watched the dark water in silence as the ferryboat moved away from shore; how different this river was; she could feel currents of cold air rise off the water although the afternoon air was quite warm.

Behind the ferry, the city rose up like odd stone formations — buttes and mesas surrounded by fields and farmhouses among tall trees; up ahead were lovely meadows of sunflowers and wildflowers lined with big trees. As the ferry drew closer to the shore, the scattered farmhouses gathered into the village where the ferry docked. Indigo held Hattie’s hand tightly as they made their way off the ferry through the throngs of people waiting to board.

There were still houses as far as Indigo could see, but now there were farms, planted with corn and beans — Indigo got very excited when she saw this and told Hattie to look out the window. Yes, the farmers in New York grew corn and beans and squash. They left sight of the ocean for a distance as the coach passed through big apple orchards — Indigo became very excited when she saw the small green fruit on the trees. The road curved again and emerged from the trees just above the rocky beach, where dark blue waves splashed the big rocks with foam.

Hattie watched out the window with Indigo so she could show her some of the places she used to ride her pony. Hattie was surprised to see a number of grand new dwellings rising out of the meadowlands above the beach. Years ago after her father concluded that the smoke and dirt of city air caused tuberculosis, he moved them permanently from the house on Fifth Avenue to Oyster Bay, where a great many of their acquaintances kept grand summer houses.

They were among only a handful of prominent families who lived year round at Oyster Bay. Her father relished the ample space on the old farmland, which allowed him to conduct many more of his odd agricultural experiments that aimed to teach the poor to grow food to supplement their diets. Her mother fretted about their isolation on Long Island, though it did not last long.

Hattie rode her first pony up and down the beach to watch as workmen dug foundations and great freight wagons pulled by giant shires delivered cut stone and new bricks to the construction sites. She was not allowed to go near or to speak to strangers, so she kept her pony at a distance from the workmen, but on summer evenings at sundown when the construction sites were empty, she rode her pony through the stacks of lumber and bricks, curious about the construction. She jumped her pony over the trenches dug for the garden maze as the new house was built near theirs, the house of Mr. and Mrs. Colin James, as fate decreed. Like Hattie’s father, Susan James sought the old farmland for its fertility, which was crucial in her architect’s plan for grand Renaissance gardens.

Indigo never imagined trees could grow as big and tall as the trees towering above the road on either side. She leaned out the window of the coach to marvel at their girth and to try to see the treetops; up ahead, at the end of the tree-lined drive, she saw a tall building of gray stone with a long porch all around, its stone pillars entwined with masses of pale pink flowers. As the coach slowed to a stop, Indigo was amazed to see the climbing rose swallowed up the entire front of the doorway; just as she was about to ask Hattie the name of the rose, the coach stopped and the big front doors of the house swung open, and out came two women followed by a man. Indigo took a step back behind Hattie, where she could not be seen.

They were all talking at once in loud, excited voices. She was relieved the strangers did not notice her as they crowded into the coolness of the entry hall. As she walked behind Edward and Hattie she couldn’t help but notice the highly polished wood floor; quickly she reached down to touch the dark wood, hard and smooth as glass.

The air inside the house was not unpleasant or stale, but absorbed a subtle odor Indigo soon learned to identify as old furniture and old books. She was glad her slippers were soft and went lightly across the floor so that no one seemed to notice her. The rooms were not much bigger than those of the California house, but the interior was very different; here the walls were paneled in dark wood. The great tall windows were dressed in pine green velvet draperies that swept down from the carved wood lintels to within an inch of the floor.

They moved through the entryway past the massive oak staircase to the front parlor, where there was much more light from tall stained-glass windows in the pattern of white lilies with green palm trees. Each window was flanked with polished brass pots of dwarf palm trees.

Although this house was larger than the Riverside house, the rooms here contained a good deal more furniture, with a great many little tables with glass or marble tops covered with tiny ceramic figures of animals. Along the walls, cabinets with glass doors displayed larger figurines of clear glass — a fierce glass bear occupied one shelf by itself. The end tables and cabinets were arranged close together with barely a space to walk between them. The matching brown velvet sofas and armchairs were centered at the far end of the parlor near the fireplace, and each sofa or chair was flanked with an end table or little chest of drawers displaying more glass figurines.

Indigo sat at one end of the sofa and looked all around while the others talked. She was most interested in a closer look at the crystal bear in the cabinet because his glittering eyes followed her across the room. She sat up straight and still on the sofa as she saw Hattie sit, but after a time, something on the sofa began to poke her right leg through her petticoats and stocking. Hattie noticed her discomfort and whispered in her ear that she might stretch her legs a bit. For an instant there was a pause; they all glanced at Indigo before resuming their conversation; the attention embarrassed her, and she did not move again until she was sure no one was looking. Inch by inch, she slid herself from the sofa to the floor so slowly Hattie did not notice her absence until the big crash. Indigo froze with both hands covering her face as the others all stood up in alarm at the fragments of broken glass scattered all across the floor.

“Oh my gracious!” Hattie’s mother exclaimed, and both Hattie and Edward’s sister, Susan, were quite startled. Edward called out sharply to Indigo, but Hattie was by her side with her arms around her, whispering into Indigo’s ear. Careful to avoid the maze of glass cabinets and tiny oval tables, she led Indigo by the hand to the door; both she and the child were exhausted from their journey.

As Hattie and Indigo started up the stairs, a voice called out warmly to Hattie; a large Negro woman dressed in white rushed over to hug Hattie.

“Oh I thought we’d lost you to that California for good,” Lucille said.

“After a week on the train, I feel as if I’m lost for good.”

“Who’s this tired girl?”

Indigo stepped behind Hattie so the housekeeper could not see her.

“This is Indigo and she and I both are exhausted.” Lucille looked at them both closely and nodded her head.

“I know what you need.”

Lucille went up the stairs ahead of them, turning up the gas lamps and calling out for Ceena and Grace, the maids. Indigo looked back down the stairs and saw two young black women come out a door by the stairs.

“Two hot baths!” Lucille called down to the maids as she led Hattie and Indigo down the hall.

Later trays of food were sent up to Hattie and Indigo while Edward dined with the others. All questions concerned the Indian child, so Edward described Hattie’s immediate interest in the Indian child lost from the government boarding school nearby. His brother-in-law, Colin James, seemed unconcerned about Indians or children or any worldly care, for that matter, as he downed his fifth glass of wine, but Edward noticed a frown cross his sister’s brow for an instant at his mention of the Indian child. She wanted to know why they brought the Indian child. Edward smiled faintly. Hattie was attached to the child, and he found her quite interesting himself. She was generally well behaved and kept Hattie company when Edward was away.

“She’s to be trained as a lady’s maid,” Edward said as he held his plate over the platter. “The Indian schools teach them all sorts of skills and trades.” He paused to cut a bite of meat as the others waited to hear more; actually he and Hattie had not discussed plans for the child beyond the summer.

Later, the men strolled outdoors to see Mr. Abbott’s latest projects to aid the poor: rammed-earth bricks and fishponds. Susan James and Mrs. Abbott went upstairs to look in on Hattie and the child.

The room was just as it had been the day of Hattie’s wedding, some eight months ago, as if perhaps her mother still did not quite believe she had found a husband after all. It was not like Mother to miss an opportunity to redecorate a room, but she gathered from the conversation in the parlor her mother now devoted a great deal of time to the church; she and Susan James organized charity events to raise money for the Catholic bishop’s aid society.

Hattie was showing Indigo her scrapbooks of her dried pressed daisies and roses when Mother knocked; before Hattie could reply, the door opened and in came Mother and Susan James. Indigo pulled the bedcovers over her head. They pretended they wanted to visit with Hattie, but she could tell they were curious about Indigo, who remained hidden.

While Susan James talked about her garden renovations, Hattie watched Mother’s hand move playfully along the edge of Indigo’s bed in an attempt to coax her out; but Indigo refused to budge. Then the attention of the two women turned to Hattie.

“Hattie, you look so thin! We thought by now we might be seeing a ‘change,’ ” Susan said sweetly. Hattie’s laughter surprised both women. Children were a subject for the future, she told them. She understood the source of Susan’s curiosity: Susan’s two daughters would receive smaller sums under the terms of the family trust if Edward and Hattie had children.

At last Susan said good night and Mrs. Abbott leaned over to give Hattie a little hug. It was wonderful to have her home again, Mrs. Abbott said as she followed Susan out the door. Susan’s jaw was firmly set and Hattie realized her sister-in-law disliked her. When they were gone, Hattie told Indigo it was safe to come out, but she was asleep with the covers over her head. Hattie pulled back the covers so Indigo could breathe properly, then put out the light.

Edward was sitting up in bed reading a citrus horticulture book when Hattie joined him. She unpacked a nightgown. He laid the open book facedown on the bed and rubbed both eyes.

“Home again, home again—”

“—Jiggety-jig!” Hattie said with a smile.

They agreed Hattie should sleep in the spare bed in the room with Indigo in case she woke in the night and became disoriented or frightened. He put a robe over his nightshirt and walked Hattie down the hall with an arm gently around her shoulders.

♦ ♦ ♦

Just before dawn, Indigo woke to the noisy chirping of dozens of blackbirds in the huge tree outside the window. The big flock reminded her of all the crows that suddenly appeared before the dancers and the Messiah arrived at their camp by the river at Needles. The blackbirds, though only half the size of the crows, were handsome birds with bright yellow beaks and feet. They watched her look out the window at them and she realized they came to greet her and welcome her.

Hattie snored softly in the bed next to hers; Indigo lay on her side in the bed and watched Hattie for a while, but then she had to urinate. The bathroom was a short distance down the hall but she didn’t want anyone to see her in bed clothes or a robe, so she got dressed. She tiptoed down the hall and held her breath as she turned the knob on the bathroom door, hoping it would not make a loud noise. She used the toilet but did not pull the chain because of the loud gushing sound the water made; she scooted the little step up to the lavatory and carefully washed her face and hands. She rebraided her hair and retied the ribbons as best she could, then took a final look at herself in the mirror.

“Hello, how do you do, fine thank you, a pleasure to meet you,” she said to the image in the mirror. She had to laugh at her dark Sand Lizard face in the gilded oval mirror; now a Sand Lizard girl was loose in the white people’s world.

She crept down the stairs to the big front doors with the polished brass latches and studied the mechanism; yesterday the doors opened without a sound. She tried the left latch first but it refused to move; but when she pressed down with all her might, the mechanism of the right latch lifted smoothly and the big door glided open. Once outside, she did not close the door for fear of noise. She inhaled the fragrance of the damp morning air delicious enough to eat: in the distance she could smell tasseled corn plants, squash blossoms, and the flowering beans and peas.

The dawn flooded the porch with golden green light that lifted her as she stepped into its radiance and pulled her toward it. She bounded down the front steps and felt the dampness of the grass through her slippers. She ran into the light pouring between the giant trees near the house along the vast lawns. To run and run over the soft earth while breathing the golden fresh air felt glorious.

She slowed to a walk under the great trees so she could examine them more closely; little mushroom caps dotted the ground under the trees and when she picked one and held it up close, tiny dewdrops glistened in the light. She popped it in her mouth and it tasted as fresh as the earth and the air. She searched for more mushrooms under the trees until her hunger was satisfied. She caught wind of the ocean smell — sharp green and restless; the wind was so cool she started off again.

It was easy walking under the giant trees because there were no rocks or gullies to watch out for; even the bushes of wild roses she had to sniff, and the thickets of fragrant azaleas — yellows, pinks, and whites — were just far enough from the path she need not worry about snagging her dress. At regular intervals the path through the trees opened into little clearings in bloom with blue-and-purple iris scattered with bright gold and bright white narcissus. She could feel the ocean’s dampness though she still could not see it. The path went up a slight incline and then suddenly she stepped out of the trees into the brilliant morning light reflected off the bay below. Now she could see the road they’d taken along the edge of the bay, and lesser roads or driveways leading up from the beach and back into the big trees and meadows. As she made her way down from the hill, she came across what appeared to be an old stone wall fallen over in the thick beach grass and sand. Someone had lived there long ago, long before the roads or the driveways; she felt the gentle presence of the spirits of the place in the breeze off the water.

Edward was up before the others for an early breakfast with his sister and brother-in-law before Colin left for his office in the city. He found the front door ajar but assumed Lucille or one of the maids neglected to latch it properly. An old cow trail through the great oaks connected the two properties; he was surprised to see a gray flagstone path replaced the muddy trail. Along the path, clumps of purple foxglove and bright blue delphiniums were edged with lilies of the valley; this was the work of his sister and her new passion for English landscape gardens.

At dinner the evening before, Susan talked of nothing else but the progress of the workmen renovating the Italian-style gardens. Edward thought the word “demolition” seemed more appropriate — he was fond of the Renaissance-style gardens planted when the house was built. It seemed a pity because the trees and hedges had reached full maturity only recently. The sounds of the steel picks and shovels against earth and stone could be heard from beyond the blue garden, which itself was undergoing its annual preparations for the ball. Susan did not want her guests to see the same plants as the year before; she relished the challenge of creating new and startling effects with bedding plants and even shrubs and vines selected for their particular shade of blue; the white-flowering plants and shrubs were chosen for their impact in the moonlight. White blossoms took on the silvery blue of the moon, while the blue blossoms were transformed to a luminous cobalt blue.

The flagstone path emerged from the trees to cross a small stone footbridge over a rill of gushing water; six stone steps led up to the blue garden terrace with its pool and fountain. He paused to admire the tropical water lilies that were his sister’s pride. They required special care in the winter, in tubs in the glass house. No matter how clever the plantings of blue flowers or white, the water lily pool was the heart of the blue garden. The huge night-blooming Victoria lily dominated the center of the pool with perfumed white blossoms as big as teapots; it was early enough that the flowers were still open, crowding the smaller blue water lilies that required full sun to blossom.

“Edward!” his sister’s voice called out. “What do you think of my Victoria? Isn’t she grand?” Susan appeared from the back of the terrace wearing a gray garden smock over her dress; a few paces behind her a tall, unsmiling man in hunter’s tweeds despite the warm morning carried an open crate of big bulbs; Asiatic lilies, he thought. Susan introduced Mr. Stewart as her new gardener, from Glasgow. He gave a brisk nod but did not speak. When Susan told him to continue without her, Edward thought the gardener’s expression betrayed an impatience bordering on insolence; how much did a Scottish gardener cost per year? he wondered.

Susan paused a moment on the terrace before they went indoors to watch the workmen and teams of horses below as they moved the dark soil, while others with steel bars and picks dislodged the marble tiles and removed the stone blocks of the balustrade. What a ghastly mess, Edward thought, and barely managed a smile when Susan spoke of the improvement the English garden would make to the property.

At breakfast, Edward learned all about the costs of gardeners, workmen, and garden renovations. When Susan was not talking about the price of Asiatic lily bulbs, Colin was talking about the boost to the stock market from the war with Spain. The conversations about costs and expenses began to give Edward an anxious feeling in his stomach; it reminded him of the illness after his rescue on the Pará, and he feared he might have to excuse himself from the table. He took small sips of water and wiped his forehead with his handkerchief, and the ill feeling passed.

To move the subject from finances, Edward asked if his nieces, Josephine and Anna, would be joining them for breakfast. No, the young ladies were away for a weeklong round of parties in Newport. The girls disliked all the dust and noise from the garden renovation. Oh, the expenses that came along with two lovely daughters! Susan gave him a significant look as she said this. Edward felt his heartbeat quicken: had Colin and Susan guessed the reason for his visit? They had loaned him money after the stock market’s plunge in 1893 to protect the family estate from Edward’s creditors.

Colin managed Susan’s financial interests closely, and more than once Colin hinted the sale of the Riverside property might become necessary unless the orange and lemon groves yielded profit. Edward’s proposal fit the requirements perfectly. He cleared his throat discreetly, then launched into a spirited description of the profits to be made from the Citrus medica. The demand for candied citron by confectioners and bakers increased each year, especially during the holiday season. Candied citron was quite fashionable now, strewn in everything from bride’s cakes to oatmeal cookies.

Colin James leaned closer over the table. Edward’s mouth felt oddly dry and his tongue felt thick; he knew he had only this chance to win over Colin and Susan to his citron proposal. Currently, Corsica and her French and Italian owners controlled the world’s commercial supply of citron. Now, by a special arrangement with the Bureau of Plant Industry, he would own some of the first citron cuttings ever imported to the United States.

Edward relaxed a bit when he saw them smile. He could tell they were interested as he explained the advantages of grafting the newly obtained cuttings of Citrus medica onto the limbs of mature lemon and orange trees. They would have a crop of Citrus medica in eighteen months or less.

He exhaled slowly and tried to appear calm as he spread strawberry preserves on his toast, but his legs trembled under the table. He smiled hopefully at Susan and then at Colin as he waited for their response. The interval of silence was their answer, he knew that; and the silence was so unbearable he began to babble about the candied citron market. Why, last Christmas holiday, supplies of candied citron were depleted before New Year’s Eve!

Edward’s forehead felt hot; the napkin was twisted into a knot on his lap; he looked out the window behind Susan, where workmen were tearing out a terrace wall to make way for the English meadow. His thoughts turned without warning to what could happen if he failed on his Corsican mission. Quickly he shifted his thoughts to the present, to the pleasure he would have making photographs of the remaining garden balustrades and the statues before the workmen removed them. As soon as they returned from Indigo’s pony ride, he would unpack his camera.

Colin glanced over at Susan from time to time as he spoke, and she nodded almost imperceptibly. They were quite concerned about the pending lawsuit involving him and Lowe & Company; any judgment against his share of the family estate naturally affected Susan’s interests.

“A forced sale by the court—” Colin stopped in midsentence, but Susan continued. “Your plan to grow citron sounds quite appealing but we can do nothing until the outcome of the lawsuit is certain.” Susan did not want him to worry; she and Colin had a plan: they intended to buy out his share of the estate entirely.

“But it will not come to that!” Edward surprised himself with his own vehemence. As a matter of principle, he did not want to ask Hattie to use her money to finance the citron grove; he wanted to keep matters of his mother’s estate out of their marriage.

♦ ♦ ♦

Hattie woke from a dream about England. She had been in an old churchyard sitting on a strange flat stone in front of the church door. She did not recognize the old stone church, nor could she read the gravestones, but Aunt Bronwyn was with her, urging her to slide her seat along on the stone. Hattie tried to scoot herself the length of the stone, but the cloth of her dress snagged on the corner of the stone. In her dream Hattie tugged at the cloth so hard she woke herself with the bedcovers in her hands. She turned to see if Indigo was awake and saw the bed was empty. No wonder! The clock on the nightstand showed ten o’clock. Still, Hattie was in no hurry as she dressed; Edward was going to breakfast with Susan and Colin, where he hoped to borrow a gentle pony for Indigo to ride. Edward must have taken Indigo along with him to look at the ponies his nieces kept.

Lucille had just served Hattie her toast and coffee with hot milk when her mother came into the dining room to ask Indigo’s whereabouts. When she was told the child was with Edward, Mrs. Abbott’s eyes widened with alarm; she had just seen Edward, and the child was not with him! Hattie refused to become flustered. She reassured her mother Indigo was nearby, and in any case the girl was quite capable of taking care of herself.

Edward changed into his riding clothes and borrowed his sister’s chestnut gelding to search along the shore while the others went up and down the farm roads. Edward lifted the reins gently to signal the gelding he wanted a leisurely pace. He never shared his sister’s passion for riding; a horse was a conveyance, not a recreation.

The sky and sea were bright blue. A refreshing breeze blew in his face. Off in the distance he saw sailboats and fishermen in small skiffs followed by seagulls circling and diving all around them. He crossed the road to follow the path down to the beach because he thought a child might be attracted by the sound of the waves on the rocks. What a mighty sound it was! Edward felt the coolness of the salt mist on his cheeks. Seagulls were feeding on mussels at the edge of the water and scarcely noticed when he rode past. For as far as he could see, the beach was deserted, but he knew he must double-check in case the child was playing among the rocks by the water.

Though he looked up and down the shoreline for the child, he was thinking about the journey ahead — especially Corsica. All he had to do was to complete the task and he would be released from all costs and damages that might result from the pending lawsuit over the orchids. In his letter, Mr. Grabb, the attorney for Lowe & Company, revealed certain silent partners in the Pará expedition wished to settle the lawsuit out of court to avoid embarrassment. These silent partners were willing to settle for cuttings from the Citrus medica. Although neither Mr. Grabb nor Mr. Albert of Lowe & Company ever acknowledged it, Edward knew the British and the U.S. government were behind the offer. Clearly the trip to Corsica was going to be one of the most important in his life. He was glad to have the solitude of a ride by the sea to contemplate the course ahead. It would be quite simple really; no need to concern Hattie with the details.

♦ ♦ ♦

“Come on, Hattie, let’s take a walk down the road,” her father said as he came indoors from his pigs and goats in his dust coat and rubber boots.

“We are likely to find the child on our stroll. She’s probably found something more interesting than a house full of elderly Yankees!”

How Hattie loved her father when he made her laugh at her troubles! He was proud of her choice of the female principle in the early church as a thesis topic, despite the furor it caused. Hattie reminded him of Aunt Bronwyn, his mother’s sister, who abruptly left the church after her husband died and moved to Bath to live in seclusion and study the prehistoric archaeology of the British Isles and old Europe.

“When you ran away from Lucille, you always ran to the sea,” he said, and she laughed and linked her arm in his as they walked the rocky shoreline.

Hattie knew he wanted to know if she and Edward were happy together, but he did not want to pry, bless his heart!

She told him what he wanted to know: she and Edward got along quite well in the marriage. They both had their own interests; although Edward’s interests called him to distant places, she rather enjoyed the solitude of the Riverside house and its dilapidated but elegant gardens. Almost as an afterthought she added he and her mother should not expect grandchildren; she felt strangely breathless and regretted her last remark. Her father’s expression of disappointment was gone in an instant, replaced by a look of puzzlement and concern. For reasons of health, Hattie said, and offered no explanation. Her remarks left her strangely breathless and light-headed. They were about to walk onto the stone jetty when voices called, “Mr. Abbott! Mr. Abbott! The farmers caught the little Indian!” Here came Ceena and Grace running down from the road.

Indigo had followed the rocky beach for a good distance, examining the bits of shells and kelp and driftwood she found among the gray rocks. The ocean was fascinating and Indigo was sorry when she got too hungry to keep walking along the shore. She left the beach and crossed the road to reach the overgrown meadows on the hillside where she had seen the purple blossoms of wild peas scattered among the sunflowers, goldenrod, and milkweed. She picked green pea pods and when there were no more, she hungrily pushed purple blossoms into her mouth as she continued to walk toward the west, through the old fields not planted for a long time. Where did white people get their food if they didn’t plant these fields? She could not see what lay past the sharp curve of the bay, so she kept walking, alert for wild pea pods and berries or anything that might be good to eat. She wished she could locate some drinking water. Where did the stream flowing through Hattie’s yard come down the hill? She stopped to empty the sand out of her shoes and to urinate. Up ahead, she was thrilled to see a low stone wall with field of tall corn beyond it.

She easily scaled the wall and went for a nice plump ear of green corn. The white kernels were different — smaller and sweeter — than Sand Lizard corn, but still this was Mother Corn, who feeds her children generously. The baby kernels were tiny, but oh so juicy and sweet! She had eaten her fill and was just about to climb back over the wall to head back home when someone grabbed her from behind and lifted her off her feet.

Instinctively she sank to the ground as deadweight to tear free from the grip. When the hand reached down to lift her she buried her teeth into the sweaty, hairy forearm. For an instant he flinched and lost his hold; she managed to break free. She ran as fast as she could through the rows of corn, back in the direction she had come. She was about to climb over the rock wall when the two farmers cornered her. This time they knew better than to grab hold of her. She watched them and they watched her; they spoke to each other but they didn’t speak to her. They thought she was lost. They thought she belonged to someone named Matinnecock.

The bitten man went for the wagon while the other man watched her; she could easily have escaped him, but she was tired. They refused to believe her when she pointed in the direction of the Abbotts’ house; its gray slate roof was partially visible through the tall trees on the hilltop.

Lloyd brought the buggy and off they went to the farm down the road. Yes, the farmers had found an Indian girl that morning. She had pointed in the direction of the Abbott house but they thought she must be mistaken. Only minutes earlier his brother left to take her to the Indian settlement on Manhasset Bay near Glen Cove. Hattie barely contained her agitation; she took deep breaths and reminded herself to remain calm; the child was in no danger.

Indigo was skeptical when the white man said he would take her home, but she thought he might know something she didn’t know. Not long after they turned west, they passed through a small settlement and then a village similar to Oyster Bay. She was happy to be going west, but she knew there was a great distance south she must travel as well to get back to Arizona.

The farmland gave way to salt marshes that ran to the edge of the ocean. Then the wagon turned off the road onto a narrow sandy trail that led to a cluster of old wooden buildings and beyond them. Two dogs came barking to greet them and Indigo saw heads peek out of doors and windows; the wagon stopped and a small group of women and men gathered around. Their clothes and shoes and the hats they wore fooled her for an instant, but Indigo saw their faces and realized these were Indians, though their features were very distinct from the people at home. They all looked at her and shook theirs heads slowly when the farmer asked if she was their child.

“No sir, this girl’s not from around here.”

The farmer looked at Indigo. He had not believed her when she told him that she came from the big house on the hill.

“She looks like one of those desert Indians, don’t you think?” one of the women said to the others. “Look how round her head is!”

“Look what nice shoes those were before she ruined them in the sand!”

“She’s really dark,” said another.

“If she isn’t one of yours,” the farmer said with a look of concern on his face, “I wonder what I should do.” No one spoke. Now that it was clear the lost child did not belong to the small settlement of Matinnecock Indians near Manhasset Bay, the farmer began to reconsider. The big house the child had indicated was the Abbott house; old man Abbott went from one crazy philanthropic scheme to another; maybe this Indian child was part of a new scheme. The farmer paused a moment to decide what to do next.

Indigo looked at the children who gathered around the wagon with the older folks; she saw no one her mother’s age. They all looked at her with wide eyes; then from behind the houses a big woman, tall as a man, with big strong legs and arms, approached Indigo’s side of the wagon.

“Where did you come from, little one?”

Indigo pointed to the southwest horizon.

“But how did you get here?”

“On the train.”

“Where is your mama?”

Indigo again pointed to the southwest. The big Indian woman chuckled and shook her head as she went back to the farmer’s side of the wagon.

“She’s probably been sent from an Indian school for the summer to work in one of the big houses here,” the woman told the farmer. She smiled at Indigo.

“You stay with me. I’ll take care of you until someone comes for you.” Indigo nodded shyly.

“We’ll look after her,” the big woman announced. The farmer was hesitant; he was not sure what he would do with the Indian child otherwise, so he agreed. Indigo stepped down from the wagon seat into the big woman’s open arms; she squirmed because only babies were carried and the woman set her down. The beach sand was deep and warm through her kid slippers; she looked past the other children, who were watching her. Tall grass and scrubby little bushes covered the dunes that went on and on until they met the blue-gray sea.

After the farmer was gone, everyone crowded closer to get a good look at her. The younger children touched her dress and her shoes shyly.

“You must be from the Carlisle Indian School,” the big woman said. “They put students to work for white people in the summer.”

Indigo shook her head.

“No?” The woman looked puzzled, then shook her head slowly and smiled. “You must be hungry.”

Indigo nodded her head vigorously.

“Come on, this way,” the big woman said and took her by the hand.

Behind the houses and shacks, Indigo saw a number of people who appeared to be digging in the sand not far from the water’s edge. An old man and two boys each carried baskets of odd white rocks to the hole. When Indigo got closer she saw the hole was actually a cooking pit lined with smooth flat stones nestled in a thick layer of hot coals. The baskets of flat smooth rocks were emptied into the cooking pit and then the pit was covered with large flat stones. Everyone sat down with their baskets by their feet while they waited for the meal to cook. Indigo was quite interested to learn how the people cooked and ate the odd flat rocks they gathered on the beach; Sand Lizard people knew how to eat nearly everything but they didn’t know how to cook and prepare rocks. She expected the rocks might have to cook overnight, but it wasn’t long before the flat stones were removed and the people began to use their baskets to scoop up the steaming white rocks.

How amazing! In just that short time, the flat white rocks cooked and cracked open. A little animal lived inside. Indigo watched the other children scoop out its remains, and she copied their example. The meat felt a little odd when she bit into it, but its ocean flavor was wonderful. Indigo ate until there was a small mound of shells on the ground in front of her. The other children no longer stared at her, and as they finished eating, they drifted away in the direction of the ocean’s edge. When she noticed the big woman gathering up the shells, Indigo began to help her. They put them in a large old basket by the front door of her little house. Next to the basket was an old bench with a flat stone, the sharpened tip of a deer antler, and a black flint chisel; nearby lay a clamshell with a circle cut out of the shell’s thickest edge. The flat stone had long grooves worn into it; bits of shell dust glittered on the stone’s surface. While Indigo looked at her workbench, the big woman brought out a small flat basket from inside the shack.

“Look,” the woman said as she scooped up a big handful of the shining shell disks and let them cascade back into the basket. Indigo turned the disk over and over in her hand. One side of the disk was pure white shell but the other side was a silvery rainbow of color. The woman held up the antler chisel and the flint awl, then put one of the shell disks on the flat rock; she took a stone hammer and began to gently tap the antler chisel into the center of the shell disk. When she had made an indentation on the shell, she reached for the flint awl and began to roll it rapidly between her hands, to drill a hole in the shell. When one tiny hole was completed, she drilled another.

“A button,” she said as she handed the finished work to Indigo. Fifty buttons brought a quarter, and with a quarter they bought lard, flour, and salt to supplement the clams and fish.

“Where are your gardens?” Indigo wanted to know. The woman pointed at the hills above the beach, where Indigo saw only weeds and shrubs. The woman looked at the hills for a long time and Indigo understood her silence as her answer; the land where their gardens used to grow was taken.

Yet they possessed a last, great, bountiful farm, the woman said with a smile as she turned from the hills to the heaving restless blue ocean. Indigo watched as the woman waded into the water and bent over and picked up a long strange ribbonlike plant with a knob on the end. In a tiny freshwater stream that emptied in the ocean, the woman showed Indigo how to rinse off the kelp with freshwater before she cut it into pieces for drying in the shallow basket hanging from the ceiling of the shack. Once the washed seaweed was dried, it tasted much better. She passed Indigo a smaller basket with odd dark pieces of dried seaweed for Indigo to try. The smell of the ocean was strong on the dried kelp as she raised it to her mouth, and at first she only licked the kelp with the tip of her tongue. The faintly salt taste and the strange texture were interesting, so she put the whole piece in her mouth. Dried kelp was surprisingly good. The woman smiled, but then her expression became serious.

“Were the people who brought you here unkind? Is that why you ran away?”

Indigo shook her head. “I didn’t run away,” she said. “I was just going for a walk when those men grabbed me.”

“Then the people who brought you will be very upset, and they’ll come searching for you.” Indigo nodded. The big woman was nice and the other people and children were friendly, but she was beginning to feel a little tired now. Those men who grabbed her got her lost. Why was it no one ever let her go where she wanted? Sister Salt and Mama would be worried about her by now; they might think she was dead. Indigo sat on the little log stool and did nothing, when big hot tears began to roll down her cheeks.

Edward rode east for nearly two miles along paths in the old-growth trees that crowned the ridge above the sea. From time to time he encountered vast clear-cut sites where excavations for foundations were under way or construction already begun. He rode until he was satisfied no child could have walked such a distance, then turned the horse back.

Hattie was annoyed the farmers had taken Indigo away. She could imagine the child’s terror, and it was all so needless because Indigo had pointed to the house, but the farmers refused to believe her. Mr. Abbott asked Lloyd to trot the team a bit faster when he saw the expression on Hattie’s face; he had not seen such fierce determination since the debate over her thesis topic.

“Glen Cove? There aren’t any Indians in Glen Cove!” Hattie exclaimed. Time was passing and still they had not found her. Mr. Abbott patted Hattie on the back and reassured her; Lloyd knew of some Indian families living on the salt marshes just outside of Glen Cove, on Manhasset Bay.

“I didn’t know there are Indians nearby!” Hattie exclaimed. Lloyd nodded his head and glanced over his shoulder at Hattie. He held the reins in one hand to point at the peninsula of land ahead of them. Hattie could see a few small shacks in the sand above the salt marsh and shore.

A large Indian woman was standing outside the shack to greet them as the buggy pulled up. She was smiling but scrutinized her visitors.

“We were told we might find a lost Indian girl here,” Mr. Abbott began. The woman nodded.

“A tired little girl,” she said. “Please come inside. She’s asleep.”

Mr. Abbott and Hattie followed the woman inside the shack. On a pallet in the corner, covered with an old quilt, Indigo was sound asleep. The Indian woman knelt down and spoke softly to Indigo.

“Wake up, dear. Your friends are here,” she said. Indigo sat up with her eyes open wide. For an instant she did not know where she was, but then she remembered the ride in the farmer’s wagon. Hattie knelt next to her.

“Oh Indigo, I’m so sorry this happened!” Indigo rubbed her eyes and got to her feet. As she lifted Indigo into the buggy, Hattie thanked the big woman again and again for her kindness to Indigo. Her father reached down from the buggy seat and extended two silver dollars in his hand, but the Indian woman refused the money.

“If she needs a place to stay, please remember she is welcome here,” the woman said as Lloyd lifted the reins.

“I can’t thank you enough,” Hattie said, then shook hands with the woman before she stepped into the buggy.

“Good-bye,” Indigo called out to the woman, who waved at her until the wagon turned onto the road. Her eyes filled with tears.

“I hate that English word!” Indigo said, fiercely wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her dress.

“Don’t you have a word in your language that means ‘good-bye’?” Mr. Abbott inquired gently.

“No! ‘Good-bye’ means ‘gone, never seen again’! The Sand Lizard people don’t have any words that mean that!”

“What do people say to one another when someone leaves on a journey?”

“They say, ‘We’ll see you soon,’ or, ‘We’ll see you later.’ ” Indigo replied so vehemently Mr. Abbott was taken aback.

She flung herself down on the buggy backseat and covered her face with both hands.

“She is so unhappy,” Hattie said in a low voice as Mr. Abbott glanced back at the sobbing child. “I feel as if I should let Edward go on without us and take the child back to her family.”

“But I thought you wrote that the child is an orphan.”

Hattie shook her head. “Apparently there is some confusion. She says she has a mother and a sister.”

But Edward was depending on her, and Aunt Bronwyn was looking forward to their visit, though it would be brief. The government red tape would take months to untangle; in the meantime Indigo was better off with them than at the school. Hattie reached over and patted Indigo’s back soothingly.

“Indigo, I promise. As soon as we return, we’ll find your mother.” Indigo sat up on the seat and wiped away the tears with the back of her hand.

“And Sister Salt!” Indigo cried out. “Don’t forget her!”

They did not get home until nearly three o’clock. Edward and Hattie’s mother met them at the door.

“You three look exhausted!” Mrs. Abbott said.

“It was the anxiety that was so exhausting,” Hattie said as she removed her hat and duster.

“I’ll have the maids heat water for baths.” Hattie nodded as she and Indigo climbed the stairs hand in hand.

“That was quite an adventure you had today, wasn’t it?” she said. Indigo nodded solemnly.

“We’ll bake cookies later this week and bring some to the nice woman who took care of you.”

“I would like that,” Indigo said. “Maybe we could ride there on ponies.” She did not want them to forget. She hoped Edward borrowed a nice pony.

Over breakfast the next morning, Mrs. Abbott announced the arrival of their invitations to the Masque of the Blue Garden, two weeks away.

“How perfect that you’ll be here!” Mrs. Abbott exclaimed, her face animated with pleasure. Everyone who had attended the ball the year she and Edward met would be there. Hattie set her cup down in its saucer. During their yearlong engagement, close relatives and acquaintances, both hers and Edward’s, invariably mentioned how divine it was they had met at the Masque of the Blue Garden. Hattie was not sure she could endure an entire evening of similar exclamations and remarks from people she barely knew. Hattie looked across the table at Edward to gauge his reaction, but he seemed unconcerned.

Mrs. Abbott knew how to translate silence from Hattie, so she quickly added, if the Masque of the Blue Garden was too much, she and Susan would plan a series of dinner parties in their honor to allow family and friends to visit with Hattie and Edward. Hattie did not relish either prospect and decided the Masque of the Blue Garden was preferable; all the probing glances and questions about them and their new life in California would be relegated to one night, instead of six nights. Hattie was grateful the conversation turned to horseback riding; Indigo was anxious to know when they were going. As soon as they finished breakfast, Edward replied.

Indigo discovered riding horses wasn’t as easy as it looked; the pony’s fat sides were difficult to grip with her legs. Hattie explained how to press her boot heels down hard in the stirrups to brace herself, though her legs must flex up and down to keep time with the horse’s trot. The reins were the tricky part; if Indigo forgot to hold them just right, the pony stopped and refused to move. Indigo tried to pet the pony and talk to it, but the pony’s brown eyes were angry.

“He doesn’t like to be ridden,” Indigo called out to Hattie, who was trotting her horse up and down the paddock.

“Don’t worry! He’s a spoiled pony but you’ll show him who’s boss!”

Indigo began to have second thoughts. She didn’t want to be the boss of any pony that didn’t want to be ridden, but Hattie gestured for her to come on. Indigo cautiously nudged the pony’s sides with her heels. The pony pinned back its ears at the irritation but followed the horse Hattie rode. Indigo remembered to post up and down in the stirrups as the pony trotted along. Though Indigo tried to pull the pony’s head to the left, the pony refused to take the middle of the path; instead it veered along the path’s edge as close as it could get to the branches of trees and shrubs to scrape her boot and riding skirt.

Hattie’s horse ran on ahead, but the pony refused to change its course despite Indigo’s sharp tugs on the reins. Now the heavy twill fabric of Indigo’s riding skirt was pulled and snagged by sharp branches as the fat pony tried to scrape Indigo off its back. She felt the sharp point of a branch poke her right knee through the cloth; closer and closer the pony ran to the bushes and trees next to the path; now the leaves and twigs of the branches were slapping her face and pulling her hair. Suddenly she felt a sharp stab in her ankle and felt the fabric give way with a ripping sound. Her ankle ached from the blow and she felt the stinging sensation of a deep scratch, but she could do nothing but flatten herself against the saddle, head down, and hold on as best she could with a fistful of the pony’s mane. The ground flashed by faster and faster as the pony ran out of control.

Hattie glanced over her shoulder and saw Indigo’s distress. Hattie pulled back hard on the reins and wheeled the thoroughbred around to block the path of the runaway pony. As soon as the pony saw its stable mate turn back on the trail ahead, the pony began to slow; it stopped next to Hattie’s horse.

“Indigo! Are you all right?” Hattie called out as she dismounted and went to Indigo’s side. Indigo’s heart was pounding as she cautiously released her grip on the pony’s mane and sat up straight again in the saddle with both hands on the reins.

“Are you hurt?” Hattie looked anxiously at Indigo’s face; she could see the child’s discomfort. Indigo shook her head, but two big tears rolled down her cheeks. She leaned down and rubbed her right ankle and felt the torn riding skirt. Hattie pulled back the torn fabric and exposed the long scratch that oozed a bit of blood.

“Oh Indigo! I’m so sorry!” Hattie said as she helped Indigo dismount. The child was shaking and Hattie gathered her into her arms and hugged her.

Edward rode up just then and led their horses behind his horse while they walked home. He was feeling rather discouraged about the success of the visit so far. He didn’t blame the child. She was a welcome diversion from the thoughts crossing and recrossing his mind. So much depended on the success of the trip abroad; he could feel the anxiety stir in his chest. He longed to be gone from the Scottish gardener and the Welsh pony, to be under way to Bristol, to be one ocean closer to the citron trees in the dry hills of Corsica.

Hattie assumed Indigo’s tears were due to the deep scratch on her ankle, and she tried to soothe the child with promises of medicine for the pain. Indigo did not reply; she felt nothing as sharply as the hurt feelings, the sadness at the fat pony’s betrayal of her daydreams about flying along on horseback. She should have known better. Grandma Fleet used to warn her about approaching unfamiliar dogs or mules because sometimes mistreated animals attack without warning. It would have been better to take days or even weeks to make friends with the fat pony before she tried to ride him. Edward might know a great deal about plants and Hattie might know a great deal about books, but they didn’t know much about ponies.

Lucille washed and dressed the scratch on Indigo’s ankle.

“I won’t ride ponies anymore,” she told Hattie as Lucille wrapped the bandage, “but a bicycle might be fun.”

The afternoon was spent resting; while the child slept, Hattie went to Edward’s room, where she found him adding columns of figures. She put her hands on his shoulders and he put down his pencil and took her hands in his. She leaned down and brushed her cheek lightly against his, but felt him tense when she glanced down at the figures.

“Do your figures add up?” she said with a smile. Edward gamely nodded his head as he closed the ledger; he felt hopeful success with the citron cuttings would remedy the financial setbacks he’d suffered in recent years.

“Is the child asleep?” Hattie nodded. Edward removed his reading glasses.

“I could use a nap myself,” he said as he rose from the chair to replace the ledger in his valise. Hattie sat on the edge of the bed and removed her shoes; she lay on top of the starched white bedcover. Edward took off his waistcoat and hung it up and turned the key in the lock before he removed his shoes and joined Hattie. The bedsprings creaked as he stretched out his legs, the leg with the old injury first. She was delighted he wanted to join her. Although they had been married for more than eight months, the chronic pain in his leg and the expedition limited their opportunities for intimacy, and they both were still quite shy with each other.

Before their engagement, they both confessed impediments to marriage: Hattie revealed her terror of childbirth, and Edward revealed the leg injury might impede the performance of certain marital duties. He was no prude; he was a man of science; but the excruciating pain made him nauseous. Their marriage fit their needs perfectly. Hattie wanted the companionship of a man who respected her scholarly interests and her ambition to see her thesis completed. She wanted a man who cared about her happiness. Similarly, Edward wanted a life partner who understood his research interests and the necessity for travel to distant locations unhampered. Hattie hadn’t minded a bit even when the Bahamas expedition came so soon after the wedding.

Since the child had joined them, Hattie was aware of a gradual change in her feelings — she no longer feared childbirth as much; she began to see the pain and danger as a sacrifice necessary to bring forth new life. Hattie raised herself on her elbow, her hand under her chin as she looked at Edward.

He closed his eyes; he could feel Hattie’s breath on his face, warm and sweet; he opened his eyes to her face, glowing with contentment. Impulsively he embraced her; the sensation was delicious and Hattie pushed closer. Instantly the burning pain shot through the leg and left him motionless with agony. Hattie apologized profusely — she was so sorry to have bumped the old injury — but Edward quickly assured her; it was his own motion, not hers, that set off the pain.

The injured leg had healed quite well, considering his doctors were the mestizo brothers. Even when there was no pain, the healed leg felt strangely unfamiliar, as if it were another man’s leg, not his.

They lay quietly side by side, holding hands; Hattie realized she was relieved and yet a bit sad; what a flawed vessel imprisoned the human soul! No wonder the heretic Marcion told his followers not to bother with marriage — the earthly body and what one did with it did not matter; there were no sins of flesh, only sins of the spirit.

Indigo dreamed she was with Mama and Sister Salt. They were driving a wagon pulled by two black army mules, and the entire bed of the wagon was heaped with dirty linens and dirty clothes. She did not recognize the place on the river where they knelt by shallow pools with their scrub boards and big lumps of brown soap; perhaps the place was near Fort Yuma. In the dream Indigo knelt next to them, but the surface of the scrub board she used was uneven. As she scrubbed the white garment, its fine pearl buttons snagged and pulled loose; in dread, she lifted the soapy garment up and saw that it was a white dress of fine cotton, clearly a dress that belonged to a rich woman. Sister Salt yelled at Indigo to be careful and to find the buttons and sew them back on. In the dream Sister Salt looked different; she was as tall as Mama and almost as heavy. Mama said nothing; then Indigo noticed Mama carried a basket full of mother-of-pearl buttons just like the one the nice woman gave her.

Indigo woke with a start. For an instant she did not know where she was, but then she remembered and was filled with sadness as she looked around the unfamiliar room filled with objects she did not know. Indigo felt the pain move around her chest and into her throat until tears filled her eyes, and tears rolled down her cheeks to her chin and ears. Soon the pillow felt damp at the back of her neck. “I’m trying to get back home,” she whispered to Mama and Sister Salt, and hoped when they dreamed they’d see her in this room and hear her message She stared at the ceiling’s ornate carved moldings that appeared to be leaves and vines with bunches of round fat grapes. Oh, if Linnaeus were there, how much he would love to climb the draperies to finger the carved grapes! He would not be fooled — he would know they weren’t real.

Indigo cheered herself with thoughts of Linnaeus and what he might do if he were with her. She was still sleepy and closed her eyes again to imagine Linnaeus and herself romping on the wide lawn edged with lilacs; she sent him a message too, in his dreams of her: she told him how much she loved him and that she would return.

Now she dreamed Grandma Fleet hugged her close and told her to be strong, and she would get back home just fine. When Indigo woke, the scent of crushed coriander leaves in the cloth of Grandma Fleet’s dress was still vivid and so was the sensation of Grandma’s embrace. Grandma Fleet came to her and she loved Indigo as much as ever; death didn’t change love. The dream reminded Indigo she must gather as many new seeds of flowers and trees as she could find on this journey so she did not disappoint Sister Salt and Mama, or Grandma Fleet.

When Hattie woke from her nap, Edward was already awake, but they rested on the bed awhile longer. Hattie asked about his breakfast with Susan and Colin. They seemed quite well, Edward replied. The girls were off for a week of parties with their cousins in Newport.

“They’ll be engaged and married before we know it,” Hattie said somberly.

“Susan is going all out with her garden renovations,” Edward said as he rearranged the pillow under his head.

“I didn’t expect to see a Scottish gardener,” Hattie said. Edward recalled the odd, almost overbearing presence of the gardener that morning, but thought it rude to speculate about the arrangement. He did not mention the cool reception Susan and Colin gave his plan for the citron orchard, or his fear Susan and Colin wanted to assume control of the estate if the lawsuit turned out badly. Hattie was so earnest in her conduct with him and the child that he felt his resolve waver. For an instant Edward was on the verge of telling Hattie everything, but an ember of hope still glowed on the shores of Corsica, so he patted her gently on the arm and said nothing about the estate.

“I’ve been mulling over an idea for growing citron commercially — I ran it past Susan and Colin to see if they wanted to invest with us.” Edward felt his heart pound in his chest as Hattie asked their reaction.

“Oh, they have no objections,” he continued, which was true enough; Colin had perked up at the prospect of the citron; only the finances were in doubt. Edward worried Hattie might feel his pulse race as she fondly stroked his arm. He felt a weakness, a shortness of breath as if he were fleeing the flames on the hillside again. A voice inside his thoughts urged him to confide in Hattie, but he could not bring himself to tell her.

Hattie found Indigo in the front parlor with her mother. They were poring over a book of Renaissance costumes complete with the elaborate hats that reminded Hattie of pillows. The theme of the Masque of the Blue Garden was the Renaissance, and Indigo wanted to see how the costumes might look, though she had to imagine them in all shades of blue because that’s what all the ladies wore, to match the garden, of course.

Indigo understood immediately: blue was the color of the rain clouds. She wanted to wear blue from head to toe, she announced, and Mrs. Abbott gave a smile and enthusiastic nod. Hattie reminded her mother children did not attend the ball, but Mrs. Abbott interrupted. Of course Indigo must come! Early, before her bedtime, she must see the blue garden in all its splendor! Her mother looked at Hattie as if to say, “Even this Indian girl can appreciate the ball more than you do.”

Hattie realized then it was futile to attempt to resist the Masque of the Blue Garden. All right, Hattie thought, they would make the best of it. Off she went with Indigo to the library to look at more pictures of Renaissance costumes. Indigo was fascinated by the odd ornate collars the Elizabethans wore, so Hattie brought out more books. Indigo lost interest in the costumes when she saw the pictures and diagrams of Renaissance gardens; she spent the rest of the afternoon in the library, kneeling on a chair while Hattie browsed the shelves for other books of gardens and architecture. Hattie glanced at the shelves of early church history without any curiosity or desire to look at them, and realized her interests were shifting.

Indigo lingered over books with pictures of gardens with water splashing from fountains and statues and even a long stone wall covered with spouts of gushing water. Hattie pointed out what appeared to be extensive stone stairs built for a great cascade of water to a long pool below; in Italy they’d see places like this. They looked at the books together and Hattie pointed out the French gardens and Italian gardens, but Indigo did not see a great deal of difference between them — except the French gardens seemed so empty while the Italian gardens were populated with stone figures of animals and people.

Hattie found the beginner’s botany book her father gave her after they moved from the city. Hattie showed her diagrams of a lily bulb and a gladiolus corm. Indigo’s expression went from concentration to delight. These bulbs were giants compared to the bulbs of little plants she and Sister Salt used to dig from the sand to eat raw.

They sat on the old leather library couch and began to read about the anatomy of the flower. Indigo was fascinated by the orchids with odd shapes that resembled butterflies and moths to lure insects to pollinate them. When Indigo’s interest in stamens and pistils began to flag, they went out into the garden, where Indigo delighted in examining the late tulips and the gladiolus and lilies until her hands, face, and even the front of her dress were streaked with bright yellow-and-orange pollen.

Compared to Susan’s garden or even the run-down gardens at the Riverside house, the Abbotts’ garden was rather ordinary. Mr. Abbott’s interest in gardening was limited to relief of hunger among the poor. Mr. Abbott said if he wanted flowers, he simply went next door for a look at Susan’s latest feat.

The Abbott garden was shaded by towering trees that formed a great leafy canopy; simple rectangular plots enclosed by a rock wall were planted informally with scatterings of cosmos and hollyhocks above four o’clocks, snapdragons, and carnations. Along the wall, dwarf plums alternated with cherry trees behind the yuccas in clay pots. Towering foxgloves and fragrant columbines in rainbows of color delighted Indigo. She made her way carefully between the powder blue asters and creamy yellow sunflowers to reach the big yucca plants crowned with spires of waxy white blossoms. Indigo touched the sharp tips of the leaves carefully and watched the bees, fuzzy yellow with pollen, in the throats of the flowers.

Hello, Old Man Yucca, how did you end up here? Indigo thought as she gently touched the sharp tip of the spiny leaves. Hattie said the clay pots kept the yucca roots dry so they didn’t rot from all the New York rain.

Indigo liked the water garden best and wiggled her fingers in the water to tempt the goldfish. Mr. Abbott found Hattie on her hands and knees and Indigo on her stomach; both craned their necks as far over the edge of the pool as they could to sniff the big yellow water lily blossoms. He called out with delight to see Hattie so relaxed and happy; he had feared for his daughter’s happiness after the thesis controversy, but it was clear the Indian child was just what Hattie needed after her disappointments.

“We got tired of looking at flower pictures in books,” Hattie explained. Edward had gone to the city to his lawyer’s office to pick up a letter from their Riverside lawyer. Indigo was anxious to have news about the monkey.

“The little monkey is safe, I am sure,” Mr. Abbott said; his eyes on Indigo’s eyes urged her to share his confidence. He offered his hand to her and to Hattie, who took it; then Indigo shyly took his hand and together they walked down the stone walk past the stables. Mr. Abbott explained how he hoped to banish hunger from the lives of the poor families with dwarf goats and dwarf pigs that could be raised in cities. Her father’s enthusiasm was a quality of his generous spirit Hattie loved a great deal; she feared her enthusiasm was ebbing away.

The experimental vegetable gardens formed a large border around the goat pens and pigpens. Lloyd and two young Negro men were shoveling goat manure into wheelbarrows. Mr. Abbott said the dwarf milk goats promised to be a success, but the jury was still out on the dwarf Chinese pigs.

The goats were browsing or lying down, but the instant they heard Mr. Abbott’s voice they all jumped to their feet and began bleating loudly. Indigo allowed the goats to nibble the tips of her fingers while others started mock head-butting battles, rearing gracefully on their hind legs.

The small black Chinese pigs were alert and watched Mr. Abbott. They seemed to listen with defiant pride as he recounted their naughty habit of breaking out of the pen. The ingenuity of the pigs amazed Mr. Abbott; they pushed and pressed their bodies against the fencing material — stone, planks, or wire, it didn’t matter to them — until they located the point of most weakness. Then day after day they took turns, rubbing and scratching themselves against the same point in the fence until at last the wire or the wood or the stones gave way.

After they escaped the first time, the pigs rooted up the kitchen garden; the following week they escaped again but seemed to remember the kitchen garden was ruined, because they went straight to the barn, where they managed to dump barrels of dry corn before Lloyd herded them back to their pen. Despite extra rations Mr. Abbott thought would calm them, the pigs escaped a third time. He pretended to shudder and shook his head. This time no one realized the pigs’ escape until they had uprooted and eaten a dozen imported peonies just transplanted by Susan’s gardener. It had been a very expensive meal for pigs!

“If the pigs overran Susan’s blue garden right now it would ruin her ball,” Hattie said; the pigs’ eyes followed her as if to memorize the face of one who dared speak against them.

Indigo watched the men rake and shovel the manure while Hattie and her father sat on the garden bench in the shade. She wondered if Lloyd and his sons had pigs and goats of their own; how did they take care of their pigs and goats if they were always here helping with Mr. Abbott’s animals?

Her father was pleased Hattie had relented and agreed to attend the Masque of the Blue Garden because the occasion meant a great deal to Edward’s sister.

“I know Susan isn’t easy to know,” he said as they relaxed on the bench and watched the child pet the goats. “But I think a spirit of amity between you and Susan is important, and the ball is the highlight of her year.”

The next day, after Lucille cleaned up the breakfast dishes, she mixed the ingredients for gingerbread dough. Hattie rolled out the dough and Indigo used the cookie cutter to make the little dough men. Indigo pressed raisins into the faces for the eyes and nose, and a bit of candied cherry for the mouth.

Later, when the cookies had cooled, Hattie prepared a box of gingerbread men wrapped in wax paper. After Lloyd returned from taking Edward to the ferry, he drove Hattie and Indigo past Glen Cove to the salt marshes and dunes, down the sandy lane to the small, unpainted wood houses with fishing nets hung out to dry. No faces peeked out windows or doors, and Lloyd pointed at the iron padlocks on some front doors.

Indigo recognized the button maker’s house by the mounds of broken shells in the front yard. Hattie held the box of gingerbread while Indigo knocked, but no one was home. A strong breeze came off the ocean and the salt marsh grasses rustled as Hattie stood looking in the direction of other houses for some sign of life. Indigo reached into her pocket and touched the shell button the woman gave her; she carried the button with her everywhere she went because the button was her first gift from another Indian and because the shell came out of the same ocean she soon must cross. After Hattie knocked at another door with no response, Indigo suggested they leave the box of cookies on the old chair by the front door. To keep any stray dogs and the gulls away, Indigo took an old wooden bucket and turned it upside down over the box on the chair. Years later Indigo always wondered if her friend the button maker found the box of gingerbread men still under the bucket when she returned.

The sounds of the wind in the grass and the nearby waves gave the deserted village a lonely feeling that did not leave Indigo until the carriage pulled around the driveway to the house and she saw Mr. Abbott walking from the stables with two brown-and-white goats on leashes. He smiled and waved for Indigo to come join him. Lloyd stopped the carriage and Indigo ran across the lawn and took the leash he offered.

As they walked along behind the grazing goats, Mr. Abbott told Indigo all about his plans for poor people to use goat carts for transportation. At the edge of the woods, the goats turned away from the wild blackberry bushes reluctantly, but they came along quite obediently once they realized they were headed home. Indigo helped Mr. Abbott feed two orphaned baby goats with bottles of warm milk. She was happy to see the little goats’ gusto as they thrust their mouths against the black rubber nipples, nearly pushing the bottles out of their hands.

Just then Hattie came in the barn with a bright blue garment over one arm; Indigo’s dress must be fitted. Indigo left the goats for the upstairs parlor, where the dressmaker and her assistant helped her step up onto the little pedestal so they could pin up the hem of the bright blue silk dress.

“My hands smell like goats,” Indigo said, sniffing, then dropping her hands back to her sides. The seamstress and Mrs. Abbott exchanged glances and Mrs. Abbott turned to Hattie.

“You could have taken her to wash up first. When I told you to hurry back I didn’t mean bring a dirty child.”

“The child is not dirty, Mother; she only petted the goats. Father bathes those goats every day,” Hattie said stiffly. “Father is the one who smells of goats.” Mrs. Abbott seemed not to hear what Hattie said; she was preoccupied with the fit of the dress around Indigo’s waist as the seamstress arranged the fabric. Afterward, Indigo stood barefoot on a piece of paper while Hattie traced the shape of her wide feet for matching slippers.

“Hattie, are you wearing your good slip? You’ll be next for a fitting after the child,” Mrs. Abbott said.

With the Masque of the Blue Garden only days away, Hattie and her mother joined Susan James and the other women of the bishop’s aid society to complete preparations. Place cards were lettered and little blue satin bows were tied for the menus and the individual nosegays that were to grace each place setting. One afternoon the bishop himself stopped by for tea with the women of the aid society to express his appreciation for their generous efforts.

Hattie attended the tea for the bishop out of curiosity, because she overheard the women talk as they curled the crepe paper flower petals with their scissors. The bishop was much younger than his predecessor and quite charming; he was amiable and smiling as he surveyed the centerpieces and other decorations; his face was animated with pleasure as his eyes moved from face to face, as if appraising each woman. Hattie watched the women of the aid society line up to kneel to kiss the bishop’s amethyst ring. The bishop’s visit was their reward, and she did not begrudge their pleasure with the handsome bishop with only a few flecks of gray in his beard.

The bishop’s cassock smelled of church incense and reminded Hattie of the Saturday religious instruction class of long ago. The bishop’s booming voice and jolly chuckle rose above the happy hum of the aid society women, who excitedly whispered to one another after they kissed the bishop’s ring. Mrs. Abbott made quick little hand motions for Hattie to join her in the line to kiss the ring. Hattie felt her face flush when her mother called out to her as the line grew shorter. She shook her head and fanned herself with a piece of paper. The bishop’s presence seemed to saturate the entire ballroom with an odd energy that left Hattie feeling light-headed, as though she might faint. She rose from her chair so suddenly her scissors slipped from her lap, and one blade stuck straight into the hardwood parquet floor. She felt she would faint if she did not reach the door; her mother followed after her into the fresh air and the ill feeling passed.

As the day of the ball drew closer, Susan frequently left Mrs. Abbott in charge of the aid society volunteers while she donned her big sunbonnet to go out to supervise the workmen to hurry the completion of the English landscape garden along the driveway. The newly created hills were bright green with new turf the workers unrolled to fit seamlessly; large azaleas and mature dogwoods were transplanted, but the new hills needed something more to give the appearance of maturity.

The bishop’s aid society volunteers were lettering the dozens of place cards when the dour face of the Scottish gardener once again popped around the door of the ballroom where the women worked at the tables. Good news, Susan said as she tied the sunbonnet under her chin. Her gardener had located two great copper beech trees at an old farm on the south shore, and now preparations were completed to move and transplant the beech trees together on the new hills.

The route of the two giant beech trees on their wagons took them through downtown Oyster Bay and necessitated workmen to temporarily take down electrical and telephone lines to allow the huge trees to pass. Hattie was embarrassed by her sister-in-law’s excess and stayed behind to letter place cards with the other women. Edward and Mr. Abbott took Indigo along to witness the spectacle of the pair of sixty-foot trees inching through downtown Oyster Bay. People lined the street to stare at the odd procession. Indigo stood on the back of the buggy to get a better view. The slow progress of the wagons loaded with the trees gave Edward time enough to set up his camera to record the event.

Indigo was shocked at the sight: wrapped in canvas and big chains on the flat wagon was a great tree lying helpless, its leaves shocked limp, followed by its companion; the stain of damp earth like dark blood seeped through the canvas. As the procession inched past, Indigo heard low creaks and groans — not sounds of the wagons but from the trees. The Scottish gardener and Susan followed along behind the wagons in a buggy.

The actual unloading and planting of the two beech trees required another two hours after they arrived. Indigo watched with Edward and Mr. Abbott as the workmen attached chains and ropes to pulleys and the horses lifted the giant trees slowly off the wagons and set them in place. Susan joined them to express her concern the trees might not recover their vigor and appearance in time for the ball, but the Scottish gardener gave her a brisk nod that seemed to reassure her.

As soon as the trees were securely planted, Susan turned her attention to the blue garden itself; she invited Edward and Indigo to join her because she needed advice. The spring and early summer had been unusually dry, and the mainstay of blue gardens, the delphiniums, had suffered considerably and replacements must be found. The blue pansies and the violas were stunted, and the salvias, in so many hues of blue, were hardly better; besides, they were so common in blue gardens.

They followed her down the path to the outbuildings behind the house and gardens. Narcissus in July? Wisteria flowers in midsummer? Here was where it was all done; Susan opened the glass door and cold air rushed refreshingly against Indigo’s face. The Scottish gardener’s cold greenhouse was chilled with blocks of ice delivered three times a week; even the intensity of the light in the glass house was controlled, with muslin shrouds to affect the length of day so the big pots of wisteria, pruned into graceful trees, would bear cascades of sky blue and pure white blossoms for the Masque of the Blue Garden. Pots of blue irises, even big boxes of blue lilacs and blue rhododendrons, would adorn the ballroom, Susan explained.

Whites were as important as blues in the moonlight; on the night of the ball, pots of white wisteria and white bougainvillea would festoon the arches and gateways; cascades of pendulous white and blue wisteria would cover the long marble loggia completely. White lilacs and white azaleas would be scattered among the blue lilacs and blue rhododendrons for drama.

But what to plant in the flower beds around the lily pool? Every year Susan anguished over her choices: blue hydrangeas, blue campanulas, blue cornflowers, blue asters, blue lupines, and pale sky blue columbines were on her list of candidates. Weeks ago, the gardeners had planted every sort of blue-flowering plant imaginable, but now Susan must decide which plants would compose this year’s blue garden.

Surely Edward would help her choose; she wanted the blue garden to hold something new and visually exciting, but something resistant to heat as well. Edward and Indigo followed Susan into the adjoining glass house that was much warmer. Here the damp earth smell enclosed them and Indigo felt a thrill when she saw big baskets of orchids hanging from the ceiling structure. This glass house was much larger than the one in Riverside.

The orchids shared the space with the bedding plants for Susan’s new English landscape garden and, of course, this year’s bedding plants for the blue garden. The glass house delphiniums, the belladonna — both grandiflorum and the Chinese — were thriving in here, but outdoors their older siblings, transplanted weeks before, showed the ravages of drought and heat. The Anchusa azurea, or blue Asian bugloss, growing next to the delphiniums was far less demanding, though its blossoms not as long lived, but they had to last only one night — the night of the ball. Pale blue spiderworts thrived on the other side of the delphiniums, but they preferred cloudy weather and were planted only in case the summer turned wet and cool.

The blue flowers of the Gentiana were wonderful but they would never last in the heat. Edward chose the blue globe thistle and the blue datura for the background, with bluegrass planted with blue Gladiolus byzantius. Jacob’s ladder and blue balloon flowers went next to the blue Carpathian bellflowers. Of course, a veronica of deep blue must be planted with the myosotis; the forget-me-not and the blue Persian cornflowers should be edged with sapphire lobelia.

In low white marble planters near the coolness of the pool’s edge, Aconitum falconeri, blue monkshood, and rare blue primulas would be complemented with blue foxglove. For dramatic effect among the blue flowers, there were drifts or scatterings of white lilies and white foxgloves, white hollyhocks, and bushes of white lavender and white tree lupines. In the blue borders bushy white asters and phlox were planted with white artemisia and white Canterbury bells.

Susan took notes as Edward called out the flowers’ names, and Indigo examined them carefully. She wanted to remember each detail of the leaf and the stalk for all these plants and flowers so she could tell Sister Salt and Mama. She picked up seeds and saved them in scraps of paper with her nightgown and clothes in the valise so she could grow them when she went home.

The dampness steamed the glass but in the next room Indigo could see the tops of palm and banana trees. Dozens of bark fragments covered with jade green moss were planted with hanging orchids, and big pots of orchids lined the walks between the benches that held dozens of potted orchid plants. Edward stopped when he saw the two big Laelia cinnabarina, their fiery orange-red blossoms cascading from their hanging baskets. He felt unexpectedly moved by their magnificent beauty, and the sight of the blossoms overcame him with vivid memories of the fire and his accident. Although he helped collect nearly eight hundred plants, he returned from Brazil without a single specimen of the cinnabarina for himself; the storm and the salt water saw to that.

“Expensive specimens,” Susan said when she saw him pause to examine the cinnabarina.

“Yes, expensive,” Edward murmured, and wondered if these two cinnabarina were specimens he helped to collect. The humidity of the orchid room suddenly made Edward feel unwell. He looked anxiously at the glass house door.

Once they were outside the glass house, Edward stopped to look back at the workmen digging up old path stones in the ruin of the circular garden of herbs. Edward thought Susan was foolish, so he said nothing; only now had the Italian gardens reached their full maturity to reveal the vision of the architect, yet the gardens were being destroyed. His sister might transplant great trees all she wanted, but she would not see her new English gardens reach their maturity unless she lived to be quite old.

“I’m glad you spared the lemon garden,” Edward said, because he was fond of the balustrades of pale limestone with the old lemon trees in their white stone pots along the walk.

“Actually I’ve not decided,” Susan said over her shoulder as she walked up the path to the lemon garden, “but all the statuary must go. The marbles are white Carrara, but they’ve not weathered well in most instances.” Edward noticed no damage; the gardens were well protected. She glanced at the two fat cupids embracing and Edward realized she was concerned about the propriety of the nude figures now that Josephine and Anna were young ladies. The noses and facial features of the marbles naturally softened with time, but there were other prominent features on the marbles not eroded enough.

Edward pointed out the interplay of shade and sunlight and the hues of green were soothing and cool; the Italian gardens here complemented the design of the house and were refreshing havens from the heat. The careful plantings of linden and plane trees, now mature, filtered the light to a lovely, luminous green-yellow, while the darker greens of the hollies and rhododendrons were inside the cool shadows.

Susan gave an impatient wave of her hand. At the time the architect designed the house and gardens she was newly married and had few ideas about gardens. Now she found the arrangement of shrubs and trees according to their hues of green artificial and boring; the geometric topiary forms were ridiculous. She wanted a natural garden filled with color — an English landscape garden with swaths of flowers in all colors from the bright to the shade. Edward asked for a reprieve for the lemon garden.

“I want to make photographs of the statues before the workmen take them away,” he said. He could see a number of the statues had already been removed and were lying helter-skelter on the lawn and terrace. He started back to the house to get the camera, but Susan wanted to show the child the birds.

They followed a narrow flagstone path shaded by a canopy of linden trees. Up ahead, Indigo heard excited chirping and the flutter of wings, and then she saw a great many brightly colored birds of different sizes. The aviaries were as large as the glass houses and made of the same steel framework; steel mesh took the place of the panes of glass.

The cage of finches fluttered excitedly in the leaves of the big potted fig trees that shaded them. The canaries sat quietly on the perches of their aviary and watched. To hear the lovely songs of the Chinese thrushes one must be there just at dawn, Susan said; their songs were the loveliest.

“What’s that bird called?” Indigo pointed at a bright green bird the size of a dove but with a thick hooked beak, alone in an ornate cage behind the aviary of thrushes.

“Oh that’s a parrot — I bought two of them because I thought they’d be handsome in that lovely gilded cage in the conservatory among orchids, but one died and now the whole look is spoiled. One parrot alone won’t do.”

Indigo tiptoed as close as she could to the cage bars to get a better look at the green parrot. It had a band of bright red feathers across its forehead above its curved beak, and the loveliest feathers of powder blue on the top of its head. The bird was perched on one leg with its head tucked under its wing.

“The bird looks ill,” Edward said.

“It hasn’t eaten well since it lost its mate,” Susan said without looking at the bird.

“What’s its name?” Indigo asked.

“Oh I don’t bother to name the birds,” Susan said. “There are so many.”

Indigo watched the parrot open its eye from time to time to gaze at her; it seemed to know it was the subject of discussion, but Indigo thought the bird looked too sad to care what was said.

“What happened to the other parrot?” Indigo asked without taking her eyes off the bird.

“Now, Indigo, it isn’t polite to ask questions.” Edward turned to go back down the path toward the house, but Indigo didn’t move.

“An accident — it was quite unpleasant,” Susan said. “I didn’t actually see it, thank goodness. Its mate was found dead — accidentally strangled by a toy, a piece of rope in the cage.” Indigo saw no toys or ropes in the cage now, only the lone parrot on its perch. As Susan followed Edward up the path, Indigo leaned close to the bars of the cage and whispered, “Don’t be sad, green parrot. I’ll come visit you every day!”

The following morning Edward left early for a meeting in the city with Lowe & Company’s lawyer, Mr. Grabb. Hattie did not sleep well the night before and awoke before dawn from a strange dream that left her oddly tired and a bit low. She asked her mother to give her apologies to Susan and the others making party favors; Hattie felt a great sense of relief after her mother went next door. She found Indigo in the parlor looking for pictures of parrots in a book about birds.

Hattie sat back in the armchair and closed her eyes. The dream itself was almost nothing — at first she saw the bishop at the altar with her mother and Susan and the bishop’s aid society gathered around him, but then she realized this was not a church but a dimly lit room, with case after case of empty bookshelves, a library table, and chairs. An overpowering sense of loss and sadness accompanied the dream and she woke in tears. Even to recall the dream stirred a sadness in her, so she turned her attention to Indigo, who was carefully studying a color plate of the parrots. She found herself smiling at the child’s serious expression as she searched for a picture of a green parrot like Susan’s. Edward was right about the benefits of travel for the child.

Indigo wanted to know more about parrots. She asked Hattie to take her to the aviaries every day, but the green parrot ignored the child. The fruits, nuts, and seeds remained in its dish untouched. Hattie feared the parrot’s condition was deteriorating before their eyes. When they were back in the house, Hattie gently reminded Indigo the parrot was ill, and she mustn’t become too attached to it. Moments later tears ran down Indigo’s face, but when Hattie asked what was wrong, the child accused her of lying about the well-being of the monkey. Hattie promised their lawyer in Riverside would not lie; they would ask him to find Linnaeus a little friend to share his cage.

“Mr. Yetwin will find the nicest little kitten he can and take it over at once for Linnaeus.”

Tears welled up in Indigo’s eyes; each time she thought of him, she prayed for Linnaeus to be safe until she returned; but she was careful not to think about him too long or she began to feel so lost and alone the knot in her throat wouldn’t let her breathe. But now, as she imagined a fat yellow-striped kitten leaping up the wisteria vines behind the mischievous Linnaeus, her tears dried.

“Is there a book with pictures of cats?”

“In the library,” Hattie said, and opened the door for Indigo. As she followed the child up the stairs, Hattie thought how odd her parents’ house seemed now — even her own bedroom no longer felt her own. Although she knew all the objects by heart, she no longer felt any attachment to them. Was it all the activity in preparation for the bishop’s benefit that made her anxious to be on their way to England?

Hattie recognized the startled sensation in her chest with its urgency that left her perspiring. She first felt the sensation the day her thesis adviser notified her that the committee had grave reservations about her thesis conclusion. The day she thought she might have to kiss the bishop’s ring the startled sensation surged up but disappeared as soon she reached fresh air. She worried the anxious sensation might return and incapacitate her as it had two years before.

Hattie was still feeling unwell and went to lie down, so Indigo went downstairs to the kitchen and found Lucille, who gave her a bowl of soup at the kitchen table. While she was eating, she heard Edward’s arrival from the city. Indigo could hear Mrs. Abbott’s voice clearly; “blue shoes for Indigo” brought her right out of the kitchen into the parlor.

Edward sat in an armchair with his boots off and his stocking feet on the footstool, talking to Mrs. Abbott. He felt overheated and slightly ill from the dry wind that stirred the dust of the city; he was glad to be back at Oyster Bay. Mrs. Abbott smiled when she saw Indigo and pointed at a small package on the table.

Indigo carefully unknotted the string to save for her ball of string before she removed the wrapping paper and folded it neatly. Nestled in white tissue paper Indigo saw sapphire blue satin slippers. Shyly she picked up a slipper to show Mrs. Abbott and Edward, who mopped at his forehead with his handkerchief but smiled. Indigo sat with the slippers on her lap and admired them; from time to time she touched the shiny satin more smooth and wonderful than she remembered.

“Do you want to try them on to see if they fit?” Mrs. Abbott suggested, but Indigo shook her head. Her feet were so wide she feared the beautiful shoes might not fit; but she wanted the shoes anyway because they were so lovely to touch and to see.

After he recovered from his trip to the city, Edward spent the afternoon with his camera as the last of the statues and figures were hauled away to auction. Under his black camera cloth he focused the camera lens on the freight wagon loaded with marble statues and lead figures secured by ropes in wooden crates. In the contrasting light, the pale figures piled on one another in the wagon made a macabre image.

Indigo turned away before Edward spotted her and asked her to pose next to the wagon. She didn’t like to have the camera’s big glass eye focused on her. The arms of many of the women statues were flung upward in fear, or maybe that was to show off their breasts to men. The statues of men appeared more calm, looking away as if they did not yet realize the destination of the wagon.

She sat at the edge of the big water lily pool to admire the fragrant sky blue flowers on long stems at the edge of the white lilies; the blue flowers stood above the water’s surface in row after row like soldiers.

Edward set up the tripod and camera on the lemon garden terrace; terrace and garden both were spared only because of their connection with the blue garden. The Italian gardens were so intimate and refined, so secure from intrusion. Why bother with an English landscape garden when the wooded hills of the island were quite lovely themselves? He wondered if his sister realized how fickle garden fashion was; the so-called English garden was already passé.

He tried a number of different views of the balustrade and terrace before he realized he needed a human figure in his composition to reveal the Renaissance garden’s elegant scale. He almost overlooked her by the pool but he called Indigo to come stand by the life-size lead figures of a stag pursued by hounds.

Indigo came reluctantly, taking small steps and watching her feet move across the ground. She did not like to stand still for so long facing into the bright sun. She didn’t care what he said about keeping her eyes open; she didn’t like to see the big glassy eye of the camera staring at her. He told her the photograph was ruined if her eyes were closed; when she asked why, he did not answer. After the third plate was exposed, Indigo asked if they might go look at Susan’s birds in the aviaries. Hattie was still resting upstairs and Mrs. Abbott was next door.

Edward was annoyed the child would not cooperate when he asked her to pose. He told her he was busy with the camera, to go herself but to find Susan to ask permission first. He was absorbed in making the photographs and gave no further thought to the whereabouts of the child.

Indigo was not comfortable with Susan, but the green parrot was the most beautiful bird she had ever seen and worth the risk of embarrassment. First Indigo went to the two beech trees, where the earth was still damp and bare from the transplanting. Their leaves were beginning to lift themselves and perk up as they settled into their new home. Indigo thought she heard voices farther up the path to the wild cherry grove, but there was no one, only the breeze sweeping fallen petals over the grass. Indigo was relieved not to find Susan, though now she would have to wait until Hattie could take her to see the parrot.

In the center of the grove was a white marble bench; Indigo stretched herself out on the coolness of the polished marble to watch the sky through the leaves and wild cherry blossoms while she listened to the hum of the bees. Maybe it was the bees she heard, and not voices; as she watched the clouds move above the fluttering petals, she drifted off to sleep. When she woke, she heard voices nearby so she did not sit up. She remained flat on the bench with her head turned to one side and watched Susan and the Scottish gardener follow the path into the forest away from the bustle of the workmen.

Indigo watched as Susan picked a lily of the valley and gave it to the gardener, who did a most amazing thing: he kissed Susan on the lips. Indigo took a deep breath as her heart beat faster. She knew Colin was Susan’s husband, not the gardener, and she knew the laws of white people: men and women don’t touch unless they are husband and wife. That’s what the dormitory matrons and boarding school teachers emphasized again and again; girls stay out of one another’s beds, and the boys too.

Indigo followed them at a distance, and within the cover of the woods Susan’s behavior became more animated — she broke off a white flowering twig of wild cherry and waved it in the gardener’s face. He promptly seized hold of her arm and pulled her close to him in a long embrace with his bearded face covering hers. How interesting to watch what it was white women and men did alone with each other. Sister Salt said some white people preferred to keep their clothes on but used special openings in their pants for such purposes. Susan and the gardener took off all their clothes and lay on them. Indigo was fascinated and wanted to see as much as she could. No wonder Susan wanted the English gardens with all the shady shrubs and groves of sheltering trees where two lovers might hide.

Indigo watched through the flowering branches of a wild rosebush as Susan and the gardener lay nearly hidden in the deep shade. She was surprised how bright white their nude bodies appeared; if they had not been wiggling and bouncing around so much, they might be mistaken for marble figures taken down by the workmen. So the marble figures served a purpose after all: who would notice two more reclining among so many other nude figures in the gardens? Indigo watched the gardener bounce and grunt on top of Susan, then roll over on his back with her on top of him. She lost interest after a while because they did more of the same. Just as Indigo was turning away, she saw Susan catch a glimpse of her; for an instant their eyes met before Indigo hurried up the path to the driveway where the workmen were loading the last of the marble statues.

At dinner Mrs. Abbott announced Susan and Colin were joining them after dinner for some of Lucille’s fresh peach ice cream. Indigo’s heartbeat quickened. She knew Susan had seen her, and now Susan was coming that night. What for?

As the time of Susan and Colin’s arrival approached, Indigo chewed the food, but even with sips of water she was barely able to swallow the pork roast and sweet potatoes. Sister Salt once warned her never to peek at white people having sex or they’d go crazy and come after you.

Indigo was relieved to see the expression on Susan’s face — a warm smile that did not waver when she greeted Indigo. Indigo held the ice cream on her tongue until it melted, then managed to swallow the cool sweet cream though her throat still felt tight in the presence of Susan and Colin.

After Edward and Colin excused themselves to follow Mr. Abbott to his study for liquor and cigars, the women went to the parlor. Susan sat down beside Indigo on the brocade love seat and leaned close to say she was disappointed to miss Indigo this afternoon; she was told Indigo wanted permission to visit the parrot. Indigo stared down at her hands and swallowed hard before she slowly nodded her head; her heart was pounding so loudly that she had difficulty understanding Susan’s words. What was she saying to Mrs. Abbott and Hattie? Did Susan say “bird”? Indigo glanced toward the door, anxious to be excused.

How odd, Hattie thought; the child seemed afraid of Susan. Hattie smiled and patted Indigo’s arm to reassure her; she seemed not to understand what Susan had just said.

“Indigo! How wonderful! Susan wants to make a gift of the green parrot to you!” Hattie’s voice was full of enthusiasm.

Indigo felt the tips of her fingers and toes tingle as she nodded and shyly thanked Susan. She was too uncomfortable to look into Susan’s eyes, but she smiled and thanked her very much. The green parrot! Just like in her dream!

Mrs. Abbott shook her head in disapproval. Where would the child keep the bird? Not in the house! But Susan waved her hand in the air — that was no problem! The bird could remain in her aviary until they departed. Mrs. Abbott shook her head; she disapproved of travel with pets. How would they ever take a parrot to England and Italy?

“I have a lovely brass travel cage with a quilted cover,” Susan added.

“But really,” Mrs. Abbott continued, “won’t that be a great deal of bother?” But Hattie was not listening; she and Indigo were talking excitedly about the bird. Hattie was pleased to see Indigo animated and smiling; the parrot was well worth the extra bother.

Indigo was so excited about the gift of the parrot she woke at dawn. Though Susan pretended she had not seen Indigo watching them, Indigo understood Susan’s gift of the green parrot. She did not intend to tell Hattie what she’d seen; to even admit she had watched Susan and the gardener might get her in trouble. Of course she accepted Susan’s gift!

What a special day this was! The beautiful green parrot was hers! She slipped on the blue satin slippers for the occasion. She stopped in the kitchen for a cookie, then went to tell the green parrot the good news. As she approached the aviaries, she heard the sunrise songs of the Chinese thrushes; their songs were very beautiful but tragic, maybe because they were born in cages and could not survive if freed.

The green parrot opened one eye at Indigo and seemed about to close it again when she held up the gingerbread cookie. The parrot promptly fluffed his feathers and opened both eyes. Previously Susan ordered the parrot be fed only sunflower seeds, which he largely ignored; but the cookie seemed to interest him a great deal. Indigo broke the cookie in halves and ate one so the parrot could see it was good to eat, then she held the remaining half between the bars of the cage near the bird.

“You can come with me now,” Indigo whispered. “You won’t be lonely.” She pushed her fingers and the cookie into the cage, closer to the bird.

“Ummm! Gingerbread! You’ll like this,” she urged softly. The green parrot opened its beak as it stretched one wing and then the other and ruffled its feathers as it began to move along the perch to reach the bit of cookie. The parrot took a bit of the piece of cookie and tasted it, watching Indigo intently all the while. How thrilling it was to feel the beak daintily plucking off another bit of cookie! When the last fragment of the cookie was gone, the parrot was within inches of her fingers and Indigo could not resist the urge to touch the ruff of bright red feathers above his beak. For an instant their eyes met before the parrot sank his hooked beak into the tip of Indigo’s finger.

For an instant Indigo was shocked by the fiery pain that pulsed in her fingers and hand; tears ran down her cheeks as she clutched the bleeding finger against her body and squeezed it hard to stop the dizzying pain. Her heart was pounding in her ears from the bird’s surprise attack.

“But I love you!” Indigo cried as the parrot nonchalantly scratched the top of his head with the claw of one foot. “Then let me out of the cage,” the parrot seemed to say with his glittering eyes. When she opened her hand to look at the injured finger there was so much blood she could not see what damage was done. Then to her horror, she saw big splatters of blood across the toes of her lovely blue satin slippers.

Stained slippers in hand, Indigo ran in stocking feet down the path to the fishpond in the Abbotts’ garden. She had to wash out the blood before the slippers were ruined.

“Smack! smack! smack!” The big blue-and-red carp sucked the edge of the water lily leaf for the velvet green algae on its edge. Indigo held her breath as the carp raised its blue head out of the water to reach the top of the leaf, and for an instant their eyes met before the carp slapped the water with its tail — splash! — as it dove underwater again.

The injured finger bled a few drops into the water as Indigo thrust it into the soothing coolness. She could see the wound clearly — it was not large but it was deep, the shape of a half-moon, the mark of the parrot beak that parrots gave their human servants so other parrots and creatures would treat the parrot’s servant with respect. Oh but why stain the blue slippers? What discouragement she felt when she looked at the shoes. Hattie asked her to save the satin slippers for the blue garden party, but she thought it wouldn’t harm them to be worn just once before that night.

She carefully dipped one and then the other satin slipper into the water, and tried to rub away the splotches of blood; maybe the slippers just needed to soak a bit in the shallows on the steps of the pool. While they soaked, Indigo scooped handfuls of algae from the rocks at the edge of the pool and flicked it into the water above the carp’s head. She watched the strand of algae float for an instant before the carp opened its big mouth and swallowed it. She was thinking of what she might do to make friends with the parrot when she noticed the blue slippers had floated off the steps and were sinking slowly deeper into the pool. By the time Lloyd fished the slippers out of the water with a leaf rake, the slippers were ruined. Mrs. Abbott was terribly disappointed, but Hattie didn’t seem to care. She told Indigo the plain white slippers they brought along would be just fine.

The hot dry weather necessitated the additional expense of workers to pull hoses from the horse-drawn water tank and pump to keep the lawns and flowers of the English gardens in top form. Drought or no, Susan refused to give up the Delphinium belladonna because its blue was more pure than any other; dozens of big plants were nurtured in the cool house, and as the ball approached, the gardener directed his assistants who labored to carefully stake each of the stalks of the plants with fine wire before the five-gallon pots were buried discreetly among the white buddleia.

The morning of the ball, the Scottish gardener surprised Susan with two hundred pots of white tulips and white freesias carefully prepared by weeks in the cold room of the greenhouse. The pots of tulips and freesias lined the walks and balustrades of the blue garden and the adjoining terraces. The gardener worked similar wonders in the cold room with the rare blue primulas, which did not leave the greenhouse for transplanting until the late afternoon of the ball.

The blue garden was a lovely sight indeed the night of the ball, despite the dry hot weather. The pots of blue hydrangeas did not leave the glass house until the afternoon of the ball, and the workers were instructed to bury them pot and all in the ground between the powder blue verbena and the sapphire blue lobelia. Along the edge of the walk, a scattering of white mignonettes were transplanted for their night fragrance. Big pots of white and blue wisteria carefully pruned into dwarf trees and forced to bloom for the ball were arranged to create shimmering draperies of the pendulous blossoms. Weeks before, the Scottish gardener had instructed the workers to allow the white rambling roses to overgrow the stone gateways.

Tiny silver lights strung in the shrubs and trees flickered on just as the sun set. On tables draped in white damask, silver platters with real boars’ heads, nose to nose, formed centerpieces. Guests began to arrive as the full moon rose over the bay. Even the dry summer provided a lovely clear evening, and the drought only deepened the blue of the sky after sunset. A hush fell over the guests as the pianist began to play the Moonlight Sonata and Susan slowly descended the pale limestone steps. The full moon gave off a lovely silver blue glow, which was all that Susan could ask for her dramatic entrance in a white satin Renaissance-style ball gown, trimmed in sapphire blue, which was transformed by the moonlight from mere white to shimmering moonlight blue.

While Edward and Hattie and the Abbotts assisted Susan and Colin receiving the guests on the main terrace, Indigo watched the people from a distance, from the far end of the rectangular pool, where a big silver carp basked motionless at the bottom. She brought crackers and bits of bread from a table of food on the terrace to toss to the carp. The guests began to stroll along the pool’s edge to ooooh and ahhh over the fragrant white Victoria lilies big as dinner plates and highlighted by blue lilies of all hues. Indigo was careful to keep herself behind the shrubs and tall flowers where the white women could not see her to call out her name and touch her before she could escape. She was happy alone with the flowers. She loved to inhale the fragrance of the white mignonettes, then hurry down the steps to sniff the gardenias so the scents lightly mixed with each other.

The sound of the voices grew louder, and with her eyes closed and nose pressed into a big white gardenia blossom that appeared blue in the moonlight, Indigo imagined the loud buzz was bees, not human beings. More guests dressed in their Renaissance costumes with ruffled collars and feathered hats came to admire the fragrance of the giant white water lilies. Indigo began to notice then a strange effect of the moonlight: the faces and hands of white people appeared blue, while the skin of her hands appeared almost black.

Hattie, who became concerned when no one had seen the child, found Indigo sitting on a marble bench in the gardenia bower of the blue garden. The child was so serious; what was she thinking? Hattie was relieved their departure day was within a week; when the trip to Europe was behind them, Hattie intended to find the girl’s family. She joined her on the bench.

“Did you have something to eat?”

Indigo nodded. She had positioned herself so a branch with a gardenia blossom hung just a few inches away from her head.

“How’s the finger?”

Indigo extended it to her and Hattie checked the bruising and swelling, which seemed to be receding. She looked at the child’s face and detected fatigue from so much excitement over the parrot. Edward agreed with Mrs. Abbott it was inconsiderate of Susan to present the child with a live parrot without first discussing the matter with them. But Hattie felt the parrot was important to the child’s well-being, and the brass travel cage was quite handsome and compact.

“We’ll look at the blue garden together and then we’ll go home,” Hattie said. In the full moon’s light the arching bowers of white bougainvillea and white wisteria appeared a luminous silver, and Indigo was reminded of the Messiah and his family and all the dancers in their white blankets all shimmering in the light reflected off the snow.

That night Indigo dreamed she and Sister Salt were running naked in the high dunes; a cool damp wind that smelled of rain swept in low-hanging blue-violet clouds of fog and rain mist. Below them on the sandy floodplain were the Messiah and the dancers, wrapped in sky blue shawls delicate as rain mist, and then the mist swirled around them and they all disappeared.

When Indigo woke the next morning after the ball, the light from the window was dim, and she heard clicks against the window glass and a faint drumming sound overhead. It was raining! She went outside barefooted, delighted at the sensation of the wet lawn between her toes. She could hear the excited cries of the parrot as she neared the aviaries. By the time she reached the parrot’s cage the wet cloth of her dress and petticoat were clinging to her body. The parrot was excitedly flapping his wings while dancing up and down the length of his perch with his head turned to the sky, beak wide open to catch the raindrops.

♦ ♦ ♦

The Masque of the Blue Garden was the most successful yet, and the bishop himself offered a mass of thanksgiving in Susan and Colin’s private chapel the following Sunday to give thanks to God and to Susan and the other aid society women for the princely sum, which exceeded last year’s amount considerably.

Only five days after the ball, they boarded the steamship Pavonia for Bristol. The weather was overcast with light rain and the sea was choppy as they steamed out of New York Harbor. Indigo pulled the edge of her coat around the parrot cage as the breeze swept up from the last edge of land disappearing behind them. She watched the dark blue water gracefully encircle the ship; the white mouths of the waves smiled at her. “Don’t be afraid, we won’t hurt you,” they seemed to say. Now she really was far from home. It was too late to jump from the ship. She was crossing the same ocean that the Messiah crossed long ago on his way to Jerusalem. After they tried to kill him, he returned over the dark moving water; Indigo had seen him herself that night as he blessed all the dancers. She took heart because the Messiah and his followers visited the east and returned; she would too.