Gardens in the Dunes (29 page)

“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.