Hattie took one look at the orchids and bananas and thought perhaps he was suffering a breakdown of some sort, as Edward excitedly described the palletload of fifty Brassavola plants he’d managed to buy. She did not ask what he planned to do with the orchids because with Edward all comments led back to explanations, and she did not have the energy to listen to him then.
After he left to supervise the packing of the orchids for tomorrow’s departure, Hattie ordered a simple dinner—split-pea-and-ham soup and bread, brought to the room for her and the child. When Edward returned later, he asked if they would like to dine with him, but Hattie merely shook her head and turned back to the child’s sketchbook; Indigo’s drawings of the parrot and her sketches of gladiolus blossoms in color pencil were quite wonderful. Together they’d begun to read an English book about gladiolus culture that Laura sent along. There was a wonderful description of the first time a European saw the thousands and thousands of violet-and-white flower spikes of the wild gladiolus flourishing in the coastal desert of North Africa. Indigo began a sketch of the scene as she imagined it, but fell asleep with the sketchbook and white and purple pencils in her bed. Hattie carefully retrieved the sketchbook and the pencils, then pulled the bedcovers over the sleeping child. She was ashamed to admit that some part of herself hoped that Indigo was an orphan, that her mother and sister would not be found.
After a meal alone in the hotel dining room, Edward returned to his room, which adjoined the room Hattie shared with the child. He saw light from under the door but it was extinguished almost at once, as if Hattie heard him. She was exhausted from travel now, but after they got home and she had a chance to rest, he was confident she would understand.
Hattie and Indigo shared one sleeping compartment while Edward shared his compartment with the orchids he dared not trust to the baggage car. As the train left the coastal plain outside Houston, he sprinkled each plant once lightly with water, though rot was more of a threat to these plants than drought. He wanted to optimize their survival rate so he would have plenty of breeding stock. Though he still could not bear the heavy scent of gardenia or honeysuckle since his father’s funeral, the night scent of the Brassavola was so subtle and refined he could inhale it with pleasure. The orchid’s flowers resembled exotic white birds, wings spread in flight. He would create his own fragrant orchid hybrids to sell to florists from Los Angeles to San Francisco. The Brassavola nodosa with its dark green sticklike leaves was used to heat and occasional dry spells; it would tolerate the heat and dry air during shipping more easily than the hybrid Cattleya found now in florist shops.
His plan was to ship florists the Brassavola blossoms, plant and all; later, when the blossoms ended, the customer returned the plant to him. As Hattie listened to his new plan she realized a quality of tone in Edward’s voice had changed or perhaps her hearing changed. She no longer recognized the connection she’d once felt with him, perhaps because she no longer trusted her own judgment. The glowing light in Aunt Bronwyn’s garden and the disembodied mask she dreamed seemed more real now than her manuscript or her marriage.
Indigo was delighted with Edward’s gift for Linnaeus, and while she let Rainbow get a closer look, she was careful the parrot did not take a bite. The fruit was so fragrant and each day she watched the color of the smooth green skin change ever so slightly. She could hardly wait to see her dear little friend again and to give him the wonderful gift.
The days were still hot as the train left El Paso, but already the nights were cool; the days were growing shorter now. She and Hattie continued their geography lessons with the map, and Indigo counted the days, then the hours, before they reached Yuma. She missed her best chance months ago in Needles; this train they were on followed a southern route through Yuma; Indigo didn’t know her way around Yuma.
The moon was low in the sky; its first quarter shone brightly through the window of the compartment onto the bananas on the seat; in the strange light they reminded her of a giant severed hand. She could hardly wait to see Linnaeus to give him his gift. Just as she was going to sleep, she felt the train slow and heard the conductor call out, “Yuma.” Hattie did not stir despite the jerks and creaks of the train. Rainbow slept with his head tucked under one wing; she thought she saw one eye open at her from under the wing, then he went on sleeping. If she wanted to get away, here was her chance. She pressed her face against the coolness of the window glass: the sandy hills approaching the river were a dark blue silver from the moon. She tried to see if she could locate the place where the Indian police held her and the other children—the last place she had seen Sister Salt—but all that seemed so long ago; she recognized nothing. She looked at the bananas again—she promised Linnaeus she’d come back. How could she leave Rainbow behind? Yet she couldn’t jump off the train with him; he might be killed. Tears filled her eyes, and she felt swallowed by loss—Mama, Grandma, and Sister—all over again. Hopelessness paralyzed her and despite the voice in her head that told her to go now, hurry, before the train picked up speed, she did not move.
With her cheek cold and slippery against the train window, she cried herself to sleep. She dreamed Rainbow was perched in one of Grandma Fleet’s apricot trees and she sat in its shade while Linnaeus played in the sand nearby. But in the terraces between the dunes, planted among the corn, beans, and sunflowers, were bright swaths of red, pink, yellow, orange, purple, and black gladiolus flowers as tall as the tasseled corn.
The train arrived in Los Angeles a little past four that afternoon. Edward insisted the cab take them directly from the train station to the lawyer’s office, where they left him, but not before he instructed the cabdriver how to gently unload the orchids at the hotel.
Hattie removed her shoes and rested on the bed while Indigo played with the parrot on the floor. Tomorrow the train would return them to Riverside, and a house that was no longer theirs, if it ever had been. Fortunately she hadn’t had time to settle into the house, so she would not feel much loss. But she’d grown so fond of Indigo she wasn’t sure if she could bear to let the child go, especially now. She was determined to take the child out of the Indian boarding school and help her find her mother and sister. If Indigo was orphaned, then Hattie would spare no expense until she adopted the child.
Edward returned from the lawyer’s office with letters and telegrams and good news: All was well in Riverside. The monkey was healthy and played happily with the kitten; the two curled up with each other at night. Edward smiled at Indigo as he said this, and she returned his smile. Poor man, he wasn’t so bad—there were worse.
Indigo turned to Rainbow in his cage and told him not to worry—she loved him as much as she loved the little monkey. Now they could all be together. She showed the parrot the bunch of bananas, the gift for Linnaeus. At first the two of them would have to become acquainted—Rainbow had to watch out the monkey didn’t accidentally hurt him; they had to be especially careful of the kitten Linnaeus adopted.
Edward gave Hattie the telegram to read for herself; Susan and Colin agreed to lease the house and gardens to them, but the citrus groves must be sold. Fortunately, orchid culture did not require extensive acreage. The sale of the citrus groves meant all the debts could be paid, with money left to build glass houses for the orchids.
He waved another letter at her; more good news! In a letter sent from Albuquerque, his Australian doctor friend reported specimens of meteor iron were obtained from a sheep herder who sold them to a prospector. When the assay laboratory in Albuquerque attempted to saw open the specimens, the hardest steel blades were quickly dulled, and finally a pneumatic spring-loaded chisel had to be used. Inside the nearly pure cadmium were threads of pure silver and gold; but more astonishing yet, the specimens were shot through with black diamonds that penetrated with great velocity! Dr. Gates urged Edward to come out to the Arizona crater site as soon as possible. Hattie could only nod her head; she would never forget the doctor’s long hands and that slow predatory examination during her illness. She swo
re never to be in the same room with that vile man again. She might have been able finally to rationalize Edward’s zeal to acquire the citron cuttings for the government, but his association with Dr. Gates was beyond the limit.
The journey by train to Riverside was not long, but the time seemed interminable to Hattie, and she was reminded of descriptions of purgatory and hell. She realized she no longer believed; if they existed at all, purgatory and hell were here on earth. She was exhausted but could not sleep as the train lurched along; her clothing felt untidy and she felt a sick headache coming on. Only when she looked at the child whispering excitedly to the parrot was her heart eased. The child was thriving; her dresses were a bit short and snug around the waist and she outgrew her shoes. Hattie found comfort in making plans for Indigo’s return. She would need proper clothes herself to travel in the sun and heat of Arizona.
Edward reread the letters and the telegrams; he was more confident than ever of success with the mining venture. Of course their new company would require funds immediately, and the settlement of the estate with Susan and Colin might take months. He felt confident he could persuade Hattie to lend the money, only until the estate was settled.
The sun had set but the twilight was still bright as they drove through downtown Riverside, past the businesses and the stately Mission Hotel, where the oil lamps were already lit along the entry promenade; from inside, music from a piano could be heard faintly as the coach passed. Once they’d left behind the downtown businesses and streets lined with houses for the farmland and orchards on the outskirts, Indigo pulled herself closer to the window and she began to watch for the Indian school buildings. Dim light shone from the windows of the dining hall, and her heart beat faster when she sighted two long lines—girls in one, boys in the other—marching toward the dormitories. She felt light-headed with relief once they’d passed. Last year at this time she had been one of those girls in line—pushed from behind and pinched by the others.
The coach had hardly stopped in the driveway when Indigo scrambled out; the instant her feet touched the flagstone driveway, she was off to see Linnaeus, the handle of the parrot cage in one hand, the bunch of bananas clutched in the other. The twilight was bright in the glass house as she entered; Linnaeus was angry and pretended he didn’t remember her. He ignored the fragrant gift of bananas she offered, and sat on his rope swing near the top of his cage and watched the cat climb to the top of the wisteria. Indigo didn’t blame him—locked in the cage the whole time they were gone. The cage door was padlocked so she left the bananas on the floor, pushed against the cage bars, where he could reach them while she went for the key. On the steps outside the glass house, in his travel cage, Rainbow heard her voice and began to squawk. As soon as she unlocked the cage Linnaeus would forgive her!
Edward greeted the household staff and the gardener; the cook had their dinner prepared, and though the table was set, he went immediately to unpack the orchids the coachman carried upstairs to his study. Later he would examine each plant and make note cards with numbers corresponding to numbers on small brass tags tied to each plant. In the morning the glass house must be swept and wood chips and light soil prepared for potting the orchids.
After dinner, Hattie went from room to room to open windows to rid the house of the odor of furniture polish and wax. The dark oak floors and oak paneling all around felt too close after the pale plaster walls and tile of Italy; even the stone walls of Aunt Bronwyn’s old cloister were more welcoming. Dark oak made her think of coffins. The lamps and cabinets were spotless, each in its place just as they had been when Mrs. Palmer was alive. She opened her valise on the bed to unpack the books and papers but could not bring herself to touch her manuscript notes.
Why bother to unpack at all? As soon as she’d obtained the information and the permission to return with Indigo to Arizona, they would be off again. In any case she did not wish to remain in the Palmer house any longer than necessary. She was relieved Edward’s attention was fixed upon the orchids; he slept in the small guest bedroom on the third floor to be closer to his laboratory and the orchids.
Indigo was delighted the next morning when Edward brought her Linnaeus to watch while the gardener and helpers dismantled the monkey cage and moved it out of the glass house to a shady corner at the end of the long arcade. Edward did not want to risk damage to the orchids in the event the clever monkey managed an escape. It took all day for the cage to be moved and reassembled, so Linnaeus ran freely from garden to garden, chased by the kitten.
That night Hattie told Indigo Edward was not inclined to let them take Linnaeus along. Arizona would be difficult enough for a woman with a child and a parrot in tow. Indigo could tell just by the way she said it, Hattie wanted her to have Linnaeus. Indigo wiped a fist across her eyes and swallowed back the hurt; she pretended to accept the decision even as she was making a plan. She brought Linnaeus upstairs to her room and let him crawl under the bedcovers and play with his cat in the trunk and valises that she’d begun to pack.
Those last weeks in Riverside, Indigo kept Linnaeus with her constantly; Hattie even allowed her to keep him in the bedroom, where he slept curled next to her under the covers all night. If Edward noticed, he said nothing despite complaints from the cook about fleas and disease. Linnaeus rode on her right hip, his arms around her waist while Rainbow perched high on her left shoulder out of the little monkey’s reach. As their departure day neared, she told herself, Don’t be afraid, you know what you can do. All day she held Linnaeus and let him play with her fingers and nibble the edges and lobes of her ears. Rainbow was terribly jealous and inflicted the first attack, driven by jealousy, after the monkey’s long tail snaked around behind the bird and startled him. Indigo cried when she saw the blood, and held Linnaeus close the rest of the afternoon while Rainbow sulked in his cage.
The last few weeks before their departure were filled with tension. Edward did not understand why they could not travel to Arizona together; the meteor crater was only three days’ travel by coach from the Colorado River Indian reservation. He saw no reason for the haste, and could easily accompany them if only they’d delay the departure until he had the new orchids securely established. They’d scarcely been home a week, and now Hattie wanted to be off again.
Hattie refused to discuss her plans—why should she, when Edward never bothered to consult her? What was she to say to him anyway—their marriage was a mistake. If it was money Edward wanted for the mine venture, then she would arrange a letter of credit for him. In any case, she vowed never to set eyes on the Australian doctor again. But Edward continued to press her—he wanted to show her the mine site at the meteor crater. Finally she had to confront Edward again about the doctor’s lewd conduct during her illness.
Edward listened and nodded his head, but Hattie could tell by the expression in his eyes, he thought Hattie must have dreamed or hallucinated. He refused to believe the doctor behaved improperly; again he tried to suggest it was the nature of her illness that caused her to mistake the doctor’s medical examination for an assault. This time she slammed the bedroom door in his face as he followed behind her attempting to explain.
The longer she cried, the better she felt—the numb misery washed away in the tears; it was as if her old self molted away as she cried, and with it went the disappointment. She slept soundly until dawn, when a shaft of light came between the curtain and the window and illuminated the wall above the bed. She lay back on the pillow to watch the dust specks glitter, rising and falling in the light. How beautiful and perfect it was—there was no need for anything more, certainly not her attachments to the past. She was up and dressed in no time; she didn’t bother about her hair. She shut the valise without giving the manuscript another look. She wanted to get outside before the others were up. The air was fragrant and cool; the wrens and sparrows chirped, still roosting in the tree. She took a spade from the gardener’s shed and walked toward the sun, past the last rows of lemon trees at the edge of tall weeds and the sa
nd of the desert. A few inches down, the sand was dark and sweet with moisture and she was able to easily dig a resting place for the valise.
As the day of their departure approached, Edward went out of his way to be kind to her and the child; he gave Indigo four hearty specimens of Brassalova nodosa with signs of developing buds despite their long journey. Edward did not press her to wait and travel with him, but he talked about where they should meet: Flagstaff, he thought, because it was halfway between the meteor crater and the Indian reservation on the river. Then one evening over dinner, Edward surprised them with the announcement that he had reconsidered his earlier decision: Indigo should have Linnaeus after all. Further he decided the gardner could tend the orchids without him; his bags were packed. He asked if he might go with them. His change of heart moved Hattie to relent: yes, he might travel with her and the child but only as far as Needles.
As the packing and last-minute arrangements fell into place, Hattie felt a flicker of anticipation and excitement at setting out for Indigo’s homeland in parts unknown. It was just the change she needed.
Part Nine
THE PERFORMANCE of the dog circus drew a big crowd—not only the construction workers and off-duty soldiers, but miners and cowboys from outlying areas heard about it and came. The early arrivals bought beer and tried their luck in the gambling tents just as Big Candy hoped they would. A quick survey of the cash receipts proved this day to be their best by far. Even the women who worked in the wagons and the Prescott businessmen they worked for came to see. Candy estimated their number at close to two hundred, and both Wylie and Big Candy were enthusiastic about hiring the dog circus to travel with them when the construction camp moved to Twentynine Palms.