Gardens in the Dunes (13 page)

The Masque of the Blue Garden was considered the premier event of the summer season, and Hattie thought it promised to be eccentric enough to be interesting. And so it was. Just as the full moon rose over Oyster Bay, out stepped Susan Palmer James from the arch of blue rhododendrons, dressed all in sapphire blue—blue feathers and blue satin. She strode grandly from the far end of the blue garden along the white marble terrace next to the pool filled with fragrant blue water lilies.

Moments after her triumphant entrance, their hostess introduced Mrs. Abbott and Hattie to Edward Palmer, distinguished botanist and brother.
His face and hands were tanned from his fieldwork just completed in Mexico. Hattie found him quite interesting, and while the others danced, Hattie and Edward talked about Italy. She went to England with her parents when she was a child, but she wanted to see Rome. Edward laughed when Hattie recounted her mother's fears that high church officials might excommunicate her for heresy. But Hattie's father, God bless him, suggested the church's cardinals had more pressing concerns than a Gnostic heretic. Her trip to Italy was scheduled for the following spring.

Mrs. Abbott did not trust Hattie or Hattie's father; after all, they conspired to enroll Hattie in graduate school at Harvard without her knowledge. What respectable man wanted a wife who sat in a musty library all day to pore over heretical texts? Mrs. Abbott's face assumed a stricken expression at any mention of Hattie's thesis, but her expression relaxed whenever she reminded Hattie of the size of her dowry. Mrs. Abbott talked about money almost incessantly—who had money, how they got the money, and who lost their money. Despite her family's impeccable lineage, their wealth was in decline when Mrs. Abbott was a child. She felt quite fortunate to find a husband who did not care about such things.

Despite Mr. Abbott's disapproval of the practice, Hattie had a sizeable dowry that made Mrs. Abbott smile every time she thought of it; she liked to remind Hattie of its size.

“In that case, I hereby renounce my dowry!” Hattie used to reply. “I'd rather spend the money on travel.”

“Oh nonsense, Hattie!”

“I'd rather not be married anyway—now that I'm a heretic!” she laughed, but after she got acquainted with Edward, her opinion of marriage began to change. Edward was a remarkable man. He traveled a great deal to the most distant and fascinating destinations, and he had a wonderful gift for recounting his adventures, in which he portrayed himself humorously, as the innocent tourist hell-bent on disaster. The tourist identity was the disguise he adopted to confuse the customs officers. Some foreign governments were quite unpleasant about the export of valuable root stock and seeds.

Edward was quite irreverent about customs authorities in general, which Hattie found appealing. I
am
a heretic, she thought, but Mr. Palmer doesn't seem to mind. Hattie asked her father what he thought of Mr. Palmer.

“He's too old and he travels too much,” her father said, “but nothing I say will stop you if your mind is made up.”

She linked her arm through her father's. “My mind isn't made up,” she said as they walked to the dining room together. “Mother's mind is made up.” Mr. Palmer wasn't as young as the others, and like any longtime bachelor he might be set in his ways; still, he didn't seem adverse to children. Indeed, in the months that followed the garden party, Hattie saw Edward again at a picnic on the seashore and at a birthday party on the lawn for Edward's young nieces. On both occasions Edward brought along his view camera and made photographs of the children playing, and later posed everyone for a group photograph that included him too—he tripped the shutter with a long black string as he posed with the group. Edward really could be quite appealing. Hattie had not wanted marriage or children, but Edward changed all that. Children—the child! Suddenly she remembered the Indian child in the lilac bushes. What if the child did not find her way back to the school?

Hattie rushed downstairs and out to the south garden lawn hedged with lilacs. Next to the plate, the cup was lying on its side in the grass. Hattie didn't mind if her skirt got dirty; she crawled and searched carefully under and among the dark green leaves of the lilacs. She found a few late blossoms hidden in the lower branches; their perfume seemed stronger than the earlier blossoms; but she could not locate the child. Hattie blamed the arrival of the telegram for her thoughtlessness; she should not have taken her eyes off the child!

Hattie rushed up the steps to the fountain and pool for a better view. Beyond the lilacs, orchards of lemons and oranges stretched to the horizon. She couldn't quite see the redbrick buildings of the Indian school, but once from the third-floor balcony, Edward had pointed out a cluster of two-story buildings in the distance. The child almost certainly returned to the school; there was nothing but desert beyond the citrus groves.

She checked under the lilacs a last time just to be sure. A late afternoon breeze wafted the perfume of the yellow climbing roses on the kitchen garden wall. She still had to bathe and change clothes before she went to meet Edward's train, but the excitement of the telegram on top of the discovery of the Indian child left Hattie exhausted. On a marble bench that overlooked the gardens and orchards below, she felt herself almost shiver with anticipation, so she closed her eyes and took deep breaths as her doctor instructed. The fresh outdoor air relaxed her. The doctor's orders were to take every opportunity to relax and to avoid fatigue lest she fall ill again. She exhaled slowly, as the doctor instructed. She still had not unpacked her books or papers because the doctor advised against the resumption of her studies
until they were certain she was fully recovered. Men were equipped for the rough-and-tumble of the academic world in ways women, unfortunately, were not, the doctor said. Hattie's mother looked sharply at Hattie as the doctor spoke.

Fortunately, Hattie's father entered the room just then. Bless his heart, he reminded them of Hattie's academic honors in her undergraduate studies at Vassar. Women who never opened a book suffered from nervous exhaustion—how ridiculous to blame Hattie's studies! Mr. Abbott encouraged Hattie to continue work on her thesis regardless of the committee's decision, but she could not bring herself to even look at the manuscript or notes, though she did bring them with her to California.

The sun began its descent in the west, and the thick perfume of orange blossoms washed over her in the breeze. Hattie was considering whether to send a note to the superintendent of the Indian school when the cook hurried across the terrace breathlessly.

“Mrs. Palmer! Mrs. Palmer! He's here! Dr. Palmer has just arrived!” Hattie stood up and looked beyond the fountain in time to see him step through the French doors to the terrace. Hattie waved and called out a greeting as she ran. She paused an instant to look him over for signs of injury, then rushed to him. Edward smiled and embraced her.

“I was afraid something was wrong,” she said, the words muffled by his chest.

Only the weather was wrong, he explained; one hurricane after another. He kept her close to his side with his arm around her and neither of them spoke as the huge red sun slipped behind the groves of oranges. She found his height and fitness very attractive; men half his age were not as lean and fit as Edward, despite the lingering effects of his injury in Brazil. Before their courtship commenced in earnest, Edward insisted she understand the impediment; he was so tender and ardent in all other ways Hattie was confident he would make a full recovery. She leaned closer to him and kissed his cheek; he smiled and glanced down at her warmly before he looked west again at the sunset as though something was on his mind.

They remained on the terrace in silence even after the sun went down. A gentle wind moved through the white climbing roses heavy with perfume. At last Edward shifted his weight to give his good leg a rest and glanced toward the orchid house.

“How's the monkey getting along?” he asked.

“Oh he's a jolly little thing!” Hattie inhaled sharply as suddenly she remembered the child.

“Oh Edward! How could I forget! Linnaeus found an Indian child hiding under the lilacs this morning.”

“A bit late in the season for runway Indians,” he said. “Usually by this time they've sent them home for the summer or they've farmed them out.”

“I was about to send a note down to the school, but the telegram arrived—in the excitement I forgot.”

“Where is the child now?” he asked, looking down past the pool to the lilacs.

“I'm not sure. I went back to find her just now and—”

“Her?”

Hattie felt her face flush. “I think so. I'm not sure. I saw long hair. You said the Indian boys—”

“—have all their hair cut off.”

“Yes, but now I can't find her.”

“No need to worry. She probably went back.”

♦   ♦   ♦

After the sun went down, Indigo crept out of her hiding place under the trellis of cascading white roses. She ran from the lilacs into the white garden because it was enclosed by a low rock wall that concealed her. While the twilight was still bright, she moved cautiously, listening for footsteps or voices. She peeked around the corner of the rock wall and saw the stone walk led to stone steps up to an arch of climbing red roses. What a fragrance they had! Grandma Fleet used to talk about the flowers the Mormon ladies grew, but never had she or anyone ever talked about flowers so fragrant and big as these.

She wanted to run right over to examine these red giants more closely, but she waited until the twilight darkened a bit more. The white blossoms seemed almost to glow and the wonderful perfumes only increased with the darkness. On stalks taller than she was, huge white lilies leaned their faces down to hers. She went from flower to flower, burying her nose in each blossom as deeply as she could, licking the sweet pollen from her lips. The night air was delightfully cool and the sensation of the rich damp soil under her feet made Indigo want to dance. She had to hold the stupid long skirt of the school uniform in one hand to keep from tripping over it; a moment later she pulled off the skirt and danced between the white lilies and white irises, around the white lilacs next to the gate. As she danced, Indigo looked up at the great field of stars like so many little bean blossoms; Grandma Fleet could travel up there now, but where were Sister Salt and Mama tonight?

After she got tired of dancing, she sat on the low wall overgrown with white honeysuckle to watch the moon rise from the same direction she must travel to get home. She made a plan: The school dress with its long sleeves and long skirt would serve as a blanket as well as a pack to carry any food she might find around here. What she really needed, what she really missed most, was her gourd canteen. She didn't have much time. She had to find a place to hide before daybreak. She might need another day to locate the things she would need for the journey home.

The west wind stirred and cooled her face; she inhaled the scent of orange and lemon blossoms, then suddenly caught the scent of roasted meat that wafted down the path from the back of the house. Indigo's stomach grumbled about the scanty food. She crept out from the low wall and made her way to the steps that brought her from the lilacs and past the fountain and pool. From the top step Indigo could see the fan shape of the gardens—in orderly squares and rectangles, outlined by low walls of stone bright with the moon's light. Orange and lemon groves surrounded the house and the gardens and a number of outbuildings and sheds. The place was almost as big as the boarding school.

With the moon high overhead, she could see the white stone steps and paths clearly. She needed to find the best hiding place before morning. She slipped off the school dress and underclothes—how delicious the open air and warm breeze felt against her bare skin. Clothing suffocated her skin; naked in the moon's light, she felt alert and invigorated. Grandma Fleet was right: too much clothing wasn't healthy. She skipped down the steps, two at a hop, past the white garden's snaking branches and thickets of white bougainvillea; she brushed aside the flowering branches and saw three steps down. Below, planted in spirals and whorls, were blood red dianthus, red peonies, red dahlias, and red poppies; bright red cosmos and scarlet hollyhocks made the backdrop along the east wall. Indigo's heart pounded with excitement at all the red flowers—oh Sister Salt would love to hear about this garden of red flowers. By daylight the red garden would be even better.

She picked handfuls of fat rose hips and ate herself to sleep, curled up under the rosebushes with her head at the edge of a stone step. She awoke when the color of the sky was dark red, almost black, the color of the hollyhocks at the burned house. Rapidly the sky became the color of the roses, and finally the sky was blood red. Too bad she had to get going, because Grandma Fleet always advised the girls to collect as many new seeds as they could carry home. The more strange and unknown the plant, the more
interested Grandma Fleet was; she loved to collect and trade seeds. Others did not grow a plant unless it was food or medicine, but Sand Lizards planted seeds to see what would come; Sand Lizards ate nearly everything anyway, and Grandma said they never found a plant they couldn't use for some purpose.

There were other gardens she could see only partially because of tall bushes and trees that enclosed them. The sunny gardens, the shady gardens, the damp gardens, the water garden—where was the garden with the beans and corn? Indigo followed the stone path to the point where it forked; one branch turned back toward the house, the other branch led down four steps to a sandy border at the edge of the orange grove.

While she ate oranges in the shade of the trees, she surveyed the house and the gardens. Where did they get all the water? The land here was sandy desert nearly as dry as home—the panic grass and amaranth grew just as they did at home. She heard a buggy and horses, then voices from the road beyond the house; she had to find a better hiding place or the school search parties were certain to find her.