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 Su
san 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 t
he 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.