Gardens in the Dunes (66 page)

In the adjoining room, Edward was at the table by the lamp, reading. He marked his place with a slip of paper before he closed the book and looked up with a smile. Now that they had agreed to live separately, the tension between them was gone. Tomorrow Edward would take the train to Winslow for the buggy ride to the meteor crater while she and Indigo would begin the search for her sister and mother.

In Riverside they agreed neither of them was suited to the married state, and left it at that. No further mention was made of his reckless deception or his unforgivable defense of the Australian doctor. The child seemed to be calmed now, no need for concern. They said good night and Edward turned back to his reading as she closed the door.

She was still saddened Edward seemed so relieved by their decision; she must have only imagined Edward's devotion to her just as she misread Mr. Hyslop's attentions. In any case, she would not make that mistake again. Before they left Riverside, she wrote to her parents to announce the mutual decision to obtain a legal separation as soon as possible, but gave no explanation. They were bound to hear all the details from Susan and Colin.

She agreed to a generous separation settlement and made arrangements with her bankers in New York to arrange a line of credit for Edward until his mother's estate and his debts were settled. She had no plans beyond the immediate goal of finding Indigo's sister and mother, but she did not want to return to New York. Oyster Bay belonged to a previous life, dead and buried with her manuscript.

Perhaps she would return to England or Italy—she dreamed about the gardens often. Aunt Bronwyn's old stones danced in one of her dreams, and in another dream, Laura's figures of the snake and bird women sang a song so lovely she woke in tears.

♦   ♦   ♦

The wagon road above the riverbank was dusty and hot. The footpaths through the willows along the river were shady and cool, Indigo told Linnaeus and Rainbow. The buggy had a cloth top but it was black and held the heat. She amused herself by pointing out places along the river and telling Linnaeus and Rainbow about the escape she and Sister made downriver the morning the dancers were attacked.

She felt more hopeful today because, the night before, she dreamed she was with Sister Salt at the old gardens, which were filled with great tall spikes of gladiolus flowers in all colors of the rainbow. Sister Salt cradled Linnaeus like a baby and Mama let the parrot sit on her shoulder; even Hattie was in the dream—she carried water from the spring in a big gourd balanced on her head.

As they drove out of town, Indigo watched people on the street point and stare at the empty monkey cage on top of the pile of luggage, and Linnaeus in her arms. The sandy hills were green with grass and weeds—a sign of good rain weeks before, and good news for the terrace gardens in the dunes. The corn plants would be tall, the amaranth thick, and the bean plants and sunflowers fat with seeds enough to see them through the winter. She had forgotten how big the sky was and how blue it could be when there were no clouds. Sand Lizard girl, you are almost home now, she whispered to herself.

Just south of the Chemehuevi reservation, they stopped for the night at a small trading post called Road's End, where the storekeeper's wife accommodated overnight guests in a small back room. At first the wife was reluctant to allow the monkey and parrot cages indoors, but Hattie gave her an extra half-dollar and promised to keep them caged, a promise Indigo did not keep. There was scarcely room for the cages and luggage around the small bed they shared. All night Hattie tossed and turned, and each time she felt another horsehair poke through the bedding from the mattress. In the morning, Indigo kept scratching at her legs and when they looked they saw little red welts of insect bites.

The following morning, the table in the kitchen was set with only two places; their driver seated himself at one but when Hattie asked, the wife told her the Indian girl could sit in a chair out on the front porch. Hattie said nothing, but removed her plate and cup from the table and joined Indigo, who was already out on the porch playing with the parrot and monkey, the four pots of orchids out of the hatbox in the sun.

All morning Hattie felt out of sorts from the wife's rude behavior, and exhausted from lack of sleep. The reflected glare of the sun off the metal of
the horse's bit temporarily blinded her but when she closed her eyes, the burning white flash remained and quickly developed into a headache. She managed to sip a little paregoric from the bottle in her purse and then leaned back and closed her eyes to try to sleep. Instead her thoughts swarmed around and around—her mother's disapproval, her father's disappointment, her foolishness in believing Edward truly cared about her. She tried to control her thoughts by visualizing the lovely carved gemstones from the spring at Bath, the bright orange carnelian carving of Minerva seated with her serpent at her side, a pale yellow carnelian of a long-neck waterbird standing on its nest with its chick, and the cloudy chalcedony of the three cattle under the oak tree.

Edward was reluctant to part with any of them, but felt obliged after she agreed to make the loan. He sorted through the gem carving and gave her the three he didn't want. Perfect, she thought; I don't want anything he wants!

Indigo called out and Hattie roused herself to see what it was; up ahead on the river was a large earthwork—the dam to feed water to Los Angeles. Indigo was amazed at the changes all around; the river was trapped, and only a narrow stream, muddy red, flowed south. The river was stripped naked; all its willows and tamarisks were gone, its red clay banks scraped; and exposed piles of white skeletons of cottonwood trees dotted the swaths of scraped red earth. The deep gouges made to build the dam had trapped rainwater and now were filled with weeds and sunflowers. Rows of army tents lined the ridge above the river, and nearby were clusters of wagons, their canvas covers painted with prices for lamp oil and tobacco.

As they continued south, Indigo noticed the cottonwoods and willows were dying of thirst because the flow of the river was so meager. Parker wasn't actually a town; it was more like a stagecoach station at the edge of the reservation. A barbed-wire fence marked the entrance to the reservation. As they arrived, the children ran out to meet the buggy and they pointed at her and at the monkey and parrot and they shouted and laughed.

As they neared the superintendent's office, someone—probably the older boys—threw rocks at the buggy until the driver turned on the seat and swore at them, with no apology to Hattie. Dirty animals, he called them. He was the son of the livery stable owner who kept a toothpick in the corner of his mouth, and he made it clear he thought Hattie a fool or worse. The driver let them off outside the office of the reservation superintendent and drove away without a word, in the direction of the trading post.

Indigo waited outside the superintendent's office with the parrot on one shoulder and the monkey on her hip. She was careful to stand close to the wall around a corner where no one passing by the office could see her because she was afraid the children might hit Linnaeus or Rainbow with a rock.

Hattie was heartened by the reservation superintendent, who was new to the job but nonetheless located a file of correspondence written on behalf of Indigo's older sister, named Salt. Hattie noticed on the file Indigo's surname was listed as Sand. The last known address for the sister was in care of the construction site at the Parker Canyon dam. However, there were no records of their mother, but the superintendent admitted there were many more Indians along the Colorado River than were listed on the Indian Affairs census. The Indians moved a good deal. Apparently some of the tribes did not get along with one another and others complained the river bottom land wasn't healthy.

The superintendent shook his head. He had just transferred here from Oklahoma two months ago. The Indian Bureau lacked the resources to hire more officers to keep them on the reservations and to track down those who drifted back into the canyons and hills. He hastened to add they posed no threat to white people.

He picked up the file on Indigo for a moment before he glanced up to ask if she intended to adopt the child. Hattie was so surprised at his question she felt her cheeks flush, and for a moment she lost her composure.

There was no reason to adopt the child if she had an elder sister nearby, was there? The superintendent shook his head and moved another file on top of Indigo's file. The child's elder sister had been jailed for theft by the previous agency superintendent. She might still be there if her fines had not been paid by a contractor hiring workers for the site of the dam construction. The superintendent's face colored a bit as he added young squaws the sister's age often resorted to prostitution.

Hattie gathered her purse in her lap and thanked him for all his help. He reminded her the child was under his jurisdiction; if she was not returned to the boarding school in Riverside, she must be turned over to him, under penalty of federal law. Hattie assured him that she understood the conditions and promised to stay in touch.

The driver had bloodshot eyes when he finally returned for them; Hattie was furious because he kept them waiting on the porch of the superintendent's office for more than an hour, but the odor of liquor on his breath persuaded her to say nothing. Indigo's excitement and happiness at the good
news far outweighed the irritation of the rude driver. Indigo could hardly wait to get there to see her big sister; if they got going now there was still time to get to the dam before dark, so Hattie directed the driver to go back upriver.

Hattie could not get the superintendent's words off her mind. What would happen to a child like Indigo, accustomed now to decent shelter and clothing and nutritious food? All the education she'd managed to get would be for naught if she came back to live here. Except for the vicious rock throwers, the reservation at Parker seemed lifeless; the few Indian women and men she saw had eyes full of misery. Indigo's beloved little monkey and the parrot would likely be stolen or killed almost at once. Perhaps adoption would be best for Indigo; the superintendent implied he could authorize the adoption himself.

Sister Salt recognized the old Walapai woman at the street corner in Needles and called to her. The old woman looked a long time as if trying to identify her, then suddenly a big toothless grin spread over her face and she called out and motioned for Sister to come over. First she wanted to see Sister's baby, and pronounced the little black grandfather healthy and fortunate, then she asked if Grandma Fleet was still weaving those little baskets shaped like turkeys and frogs. Sister Salt's face fell and she shook her head slowly; the Walapai woman knew immediately, and tears filled into her eyes. “And your mother?” she asked. “Is she still traveling with the dancers?” Sister Salt nodded, then asked if anyone had heard news of their whereabouts.

How long had it been—two winters almost, wasn't it? Sister Salt nodded. People here were afraid to dance because of the soldiers and Indian police. But if the people would just dance like before, then the Messiah and the dancers would return.

Maytha and Vedna were waiting for her across the street. They'd come into Needles to buy nails and check the town dump for pieces of scrap wood or tin they might use for their new house. They paid to ride on the back of the freight wagon that carried the mail between Parker and Needles twice a week; it was a two-day ride from Road's End to Needles, so they had to bring along their own water and food. The little black grandfather
began to twist around in his bundle impatiently, and Sister Salt was about to excuse herself to go when the old Walapai woman put a hand on her arm.

“Wait! I've got important news for you,” she said, “about your little sister.” Sister Salt's heart pounded as she listened. Two days before, the Walapai woman saw Indigo get off the eastbound train; at first she didn't recognize her because she'd grown so much, and she wore fine new clothes and shoes. But it was her! She carried a colorful caged bird, and a funny furry creature clung to one arm; she was accompanied by a rich white man and woman with a great deal of luggage. They left the station in a rented buggy.

The woman's Walapai sisters agreed; they'd seen them too. But other Indian women, mostly Havasupai and Mojave, came over to disagree with the Walapai women. They said not to listen to her; the old Walapai woman had been crazy since she was kicked in the head by a cavalry horse, and her Walapai sisters drank too much beer.

Sister Salt politely thanked the old woman and her sisters; were they mistaken as the others said? Indigo was at boarding school in California, not with a white couple; she must have seen another girl. Deep down though, she felt hope and excitement; what if the Walapai women were right?

Later Sister showed the twins the place along the river just south of town where their lean-to had been; the ring of blackened stones that marked their hearth was still there, but nothing else. On trips to Needles with Big Candy, Sister used to avoid the place; for a long time she couldn't even bring herself to look directly at the high sandy hill above the riverbank where the Messiah and his family fled that morning. Instead she glanced at the hill from the corner of her eye, afraid that if she looked directly at it, she might cry.