“That was, by no means, the end of my ordeal,” Edward wrote in his statement to his attorney. “Within three days the ship encountered a violent storm and we all very nearly were lost; the ship’s cargo and luggage were dumped overboard by the terrified crewmen in futile efforts to appease the angry sea.
“All the orchid specimens in the remaining two crates were lost when the crates became soaked with salt water,” Edward concluded his account of the expedition requested by his lawyers.
Edward pressed down on his pen so firmly the tip of the nib snapped off and bounced across the floor. Hattie looked up from the book of monkey stories as Edward put away the pen and gathered his papers. They’d arrive at Grand Central station in less than an hour.
Indigo glanced out the window at the lush green countryside with the little settlements and farms; she was glad they were almost there because she was weary of the constant motion and the noise, and her back and legs were sore from sitting in the same place for hours at a time. She wanted to hear what happened next to the monkey born from an egg-shaped stone because nothing could harm the monkey. Even after Hattie closed the book, Indigo felt content to daydream about Monkey, able to change each of the eighty-four thousand hairs on his body into anything he wanted; the little monkey back in Riverside would escape all harm just like the monkey in the stories. Hattie promised when they reached New York they would have news from home and a full report on Linnaeus.
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, s
he 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.