The dawn flooded the porch with golden green light that lifted her as she stepped into its radiance and pulled her toward it. She bounded down the front steps and felt the dampness of the grass through her slippers. She ran into the light pouring between the giant trees near the house along the vast lawns. To run and run over the soft earth while breathing the golden fresh air felt glorious.
She slowed to a walk under the great trees so she could examine them more closely; little mushroom caps dotted the ground under the trees and when she picked one and held it up close, tiny dewdrops glistened in the light. She popped it in her mouth and it tasted as fresh as the earth and the air. She searched for more mushrooms under the trees until her hunger was satisfied. She caught wind of the ocean smell—sharp green and restless; the wind was so cool she started off again.
It was easy walking under the giant trees because there were no rocks or gullies to watch out for; even the bushes of wild roses she had to sniff, and the thickets of fragrant azaleas—yellows, pinks, and whites—were just far enough from the path she need not worry about snagging her dress. At regular intervals the path through the trees opened into little clearings in bloom with blue-and-purple iris scattered with bright gold and bright white narcissus. She could feel the ocean’s dampness though she still could not see it. The path went up a slight incline and then suddenly she stepped out of the trees into the brilliant morning light reflected off the bay below. Now she could see the road they’d taken along the edge of the bay, and lesser roads or driveways leading up from the beach and back into the big trees and meadows. As she made her way down from the hill, she came across what appeared to be an old stone wall fallen over in the thick beach grass and sand. Someone had lived there long ago, long before the roads or the driveways; she felt the gentle presence of the spirits of the place in the breeze off the water.
Edward was up before the others for an early breakfast with his sister and brother-in-law before Colin left for his office in the city. He found the front door ajar but assumed Lucille or one of the maids neglected to latch it properly. An old cow trail through the great oaks connected the two properties; he was surprised to see a gray flagstone path replaced the muddy trail. Along the path, clumps of purple foxglove and bright blue delphiniums were edged with lilies of the valley; this was the work of his sister and her new passion for English landscape gardens.
At dinner the evening before, Susan talked of nothing else but the progress of the workmen renovating the Italian-style gardens. Edward thought the word “demolition” seemed more appropriate—he was fond of the Renaissance-style gardens planted when the house was built. It seemed a pity because the trees and hedges had reached full maturity only recently. The sounds of the steel picks and shovels against earth and stone could be heard from beyond the blue garden, which itself was undergoing its annual preparations for the ball. Susan did not want her guests to see the same plants as the year before; she relished the challenge of creating new and startling effects with bedding plants and even shrubs and vines selected for their particular shade of blue; the white-flowering plants and shrubs were chosen for their impact in the moonlight. White blossoms took on the silvery blue of the moon, while the blue blossoms were transformed to a luminous cobalt blue.
The flagstone path emerged from the trees to cross a small stone footbridge over a rill of gushing water; six stone steps led up to the blue garden terrace with its pool and fountain. He paused to admire the tropical water lilies that were his sister’s pride. They required special care in the winter, in tubs in the glass house. No matter how clever the plantings of blue flowers or white, the water lily pool was the heart of the blue garden. The huge night-blooming Victoria lily dominated the center of the pool with perfumed white blossoms as big as teapots; it was early enough that the flowers were still open, crowding the smaller blue water lilies that required full sun to blossom.
“Edward!” his sister’s voice called out. “What do you think of my Victoria? Isn’t she grand?” Susan appeared from the back of the terrace wearing a gray garden smock over her dress; a few paces behind her a tall, unsmiling man in hunter’s tweeds despite the warm morning carried an open crate of big bulbs; Asiatic lilies, he thought. Susan introduced Mr. Stewart as her new gardener, from Glasgow. He gave a brisk nod but did not speak. When Susan told him to continue without her, Edward thought the gardener’s expression betrayed an impatience bordering on insolence; how much did a Scottish gardener cost per year? he wondered.
Susan paused a moment on the terrace before they went indoors to watch the workmen and teams of horses below as they moved the dark soil, while others with steel bars and picks dislodged the marble tiles and removed the stone blocks of the balustrade. What a ghastly mess, Edward thought, and barely managed a smile when Susan spoke of the improvement the English garden would make to the property.
At breakfast, Edward learned all about the costs of gardeners, workmen, and garden renovations. When Susan was not talking about the price of Asiatic lily bulbs, Colin was talking about the boost to the stock market from the war with Spain. The conversations about costs and expenses began to give Edward an anxious feeling in his stomach; it reminded him of the illness after his rescue on the Pará, and he feared he might have to excuse himself from the table. He took small sips of water and wiped his forehead with his handkerchief, and the ill feeling passed.
To move the subject from finances, Edward asked if his nieces, Josephine and Anna, would be joining them for breakfast. No, the young ladies were away for a weeklong round of parties in Newport. The girls disliked all the dust and noise from the garden renovation. Oh, the expenses that came along with two lovely daughters! Susan gave him a significant look as she said this. Edward felt his heartbeat quicken: had Colin and Susan guessed the reason for his visit? They had loaned him money after the stock market’s plunge in 1893 to protect the family estate from Edward’s creditors.
Colin managed Susan’s financial interests closely, and more than once Colin hinted the sale of the Riverside property might become necessary unless the orange and lemon groves yielded profit. Edward’s proposal fit the requirements perfectly. He cleared his throat discreetly, then launched into a spirited description of the profits to be made from the Citrus medica. The demand for candied citron by confectioners and bakers increased each year, especially during the holiday season. Candied citron was quite fashionable now, strewn in everything from bride’s cakes to oatmeal cookies.
Colin James leaned closer over the table. Edward’s mouth felt oddly dry and his tongue felt thick; he knew he had only this chance to win over Colin and Susan to his citron proposal. Currently, Corsica and her French and Italian owners controlled the world’s commercial supply of citron. Now, by a special arrangement with the Bureau of Plant Industry, he would own some of the first citron cuttings ever imported to the United States.
Edward relaxed a bit when he saw them smile. He could tell they were interested as he explained the advantages of grafting the newly obtained cuttings of Citrus medica onto the limbs of mature lemon and orange trees. They would have a crop of Citrus medica in eighteen months or less.
He exhaled slowly and tried to appear calm as he spread strawberry preserves on his toast, but his legs trembled under the table. He smiled hopefully at Susan and then at Colin as he waited for their response. The interval of silence was their answer, he knew that; and the silence was so unbearable he began to babble about the candied citron market. Why, last Christmas holiday, supplies of candied citron were depleted before New Year’s Eve!
Edward’s forehead felt hot; the napkin was twisted into a knot on his lap; he looked out the window behind Susan, where workmen were tearing out a terrace wall to make way for the English meadow. His thoughts turned without warning to what could happen if he failed on his Corsican mission. Quickly he shifted his thoughts to the present, to the pleasure he would have making photographs of the remaining garden balustrades and the statues before the workmen removed them. As soon a
s they returned from Indigo’s pony ride, he would unpack his camera.
Colin glanced over at Susan from time to time as he spoke, and she nodded almost imperceptibly. They were quite concerned about the pending lawsuit involving him and Lowe & Company; any judgment against his share of the family estate naturally affected Susan’s interests.
“A forced sale by the court—” Colin stopped in midsentence, but Susan continued. “Your plan to grow citron sounds quite appealing but we can do nothing until the outcome of the lawsuit is certain.” Susan did not want him to worry; she and Colin had a plan: they intended to buy out his share of the estate entirely.
“But it will not come to that!” Edward surprised himself with his own vehemence. As a matter of principle, he did not want to ask Hattie to use her money to finance the citron grove; he wanted to keep matters of his mother’s estate out of their marriage.
♦ ♦ ♦
Hattie woke from a dream about England. She had been in an old churchyard sitting on a strange flat stone in front of the church door. She did not recognize the old stone church, nor could she read the gravestones, but Aunt Bronwyn was with her, urging her to slide her seat along on the stone. Hattie tried to scoot herself the length of the stone, but the cloth of her dress snagged on the corner of the stone. In her dream Hattie tugged at the cloth so hard she woke herself with the bedcovers in her hands. She turned to see if Indigo was awake and saw the bed was empty. No wonder! The clock on the nightstand showed ten o’clock. Still, Hattie was in no hurry as she dressed; Edward was going to breakfast with Susan and Colin, where he hoped to borrow a gentle pony for Indigo to ride. Edward must have taken Indigo along with him to look at the ponies his nieces kept.
Lucille had just served Hattie her toast and coffee with hot milk when her mother came into the dining room to ask Indigo’s whereabouts. When she was told the child was with Edward, Mrs. Abbott’s eyes widened with alarm; she had just seen Edward, and the child was not with him! Hattie refused to become flustered. She reassured her mother Indigo was nearby, and in any case the girl was quite capable of taking care of herself.
Edward changed into his riding clothes and borrowed his sister’s chestnut gelding to search along the shore while the others went up and down the farm roads. Edward lifted the reins gently to signal the gelding he wanted a leisurely pace. He never shared his sister’s passion for riding; a horse was a conveyance, not a recreation.
The sky and sea were bright blue. A refreshing breeze blew in his face. Off in the distance he saw sailboats and fishermen in small skiffs followed by seagulls circling and diving all around them. He crossed the road to follow the path down to the beach because he thought a child might be attracted by the sound of the waves on the rocks. What a mighty sound it was! Edward felt the coolness of the salt mist on his cheeks. Seagulls were feeding on mussels at the edge of the water and scarcely noticed when he rode past. For as far as he could see, the beach was deserted, but he knew he must double-check in case the child was playing among the rocks by the water.
Though he looked up and down the shoreline for the child, he was thinking about the journey ahead—especially Corsica. All he had to do was to complete the task and he would be released from all costs and damages that might result from the pending lawsuit over the orchids. In his letter, Mr. Grabb, the attorney for Lowe & Company, revealed certain silent partners in the Pará expedition wished to settle the lawsuit out of court to avoid embarrassment. These silent partners were willing to settle for cuttings from the Citrus medica. Although neither Mr. Grabb nor Mr. Albert of Lowe & Company ever acknowledged it, Edward knew the British and the U.S. government were behind the offer. Clearly the trip to Corsica was going to be one of the most important in his life. He was glad to have the solitude of a ride by the sea to contemplate the course ahead. It would be quite simple really; no need to concern Hattie with the details.
♦ ♦ ♦
“Come on, Hattie, let’s take a walk down the road,” her father said as he came indoors from his pigs and goats in his dust coat and rubber boots.
“We are likely to find the child on our stroll. She’s probably found something more interesting than a house full of elderly Yankees!”
How Hattie loved her father when he made her laugh at her troubles! He was proud of her choice of the female principle in the early church as a thesis topic, despite the furor it caused. Hattie reminded him of Aunt Bronwyn, his mother’s sister, who abruptly left the church after her husband died and moved to Bath to live in seclusion and study the prehistoric archaeology of the British Isles and old Europe.
“When you ran away from Lucille, you always ran to the sea,” he said, and she laughed and linked her arm in his as they walked the rocky shoreline.
Hattie knew he wanted to know if she and Edward were happy together, but he did not want to pry, bless his heart!
She told him what he wanted to know: she and Edward got along quite well in the marriage. They both had their own interests; although Edward’s interests called him to distant places, she rather enjoyed the solitude of the Riverside house and its dilapidated but elegant gardens. Almost as an afterthought she added he and her mother should not expect grandchildren; she felt strangely breathless and regretted her last remark. Her father’s expression of disappointment was gone in an instant, replaced by a look of puzzlement and concern. For reasons of health, Hattie said, and offered no explanation. Her remarks left her strangely breathless and light-headed. They were about to walk onto the stone jetty when voices called, “Mr. Abbott! Mr. Abbott! The farmers caught the little Indian!” Here came Ceena and Grace running down from the road.
Indigo had followed the rocky beach for a good distance, examining the bits of shells and kelp and driftwood she found among the gray rocks. The ocean was fascinating and Indigo was sorry when she got too hungry to keep walking along the shore. She left the beach and crossed the road to reach the overgrown meadows on the hillside where she had seen the purple blossoms of wild peas scattered among the sunflowers, goldenrod, and milkweed. She picked green pea pods and when there were no more, she hungrily pushed purple blossoms into her mouth as she continued to walk toward the west, through the old fields not planted for a long time. Where did white people get their food if they didn’t plant these fields? She could not see what lay past the sharp curve of the bay, so she kept walking, alert for wild pea pods and berries or anything that might be good to eat. She wished she could locate some drinking water. Where did the stream flowing through Hattie’s yard come down the hill? She stopped to empty the sand out of her shoes and to urinate. Up ahead, she was thrilled to see a low stone wall with field of tall corn beyond it.
She easily scaled the wall and went for a nice plump ear of green corn. The white kernels were different—smaller and sweeter—than Sand Lizard corn, but still this was Mother Corn, who feeds her children generously. The baby kernels were tiny, but oh so juicy and sweet! She had eaten her fill and was just about to climb back over the wall to head back home when someone grabbed her from behind and lifted her off her feet.
Instinctively she sank to the ground as deadweight to tear free from the grip. When the hand reached down to lift her she buried her teeth into the sweaty, hairy forearm. For an instant he flinched and lost his hold; she managed to break free. She ran as fast as she could through the rows of corn, back in the direction she had come. She was about to climb over the rock wall when the two farmers cornered her. This time they knew better than to grab hold of her. She watched them and they watched her; they spoke to each other but they didn’t speak to her. They thought she was lost. They thought she belonged to someone named Matinnecock.
The bitten man went for the wagon while the other man watched her; she could easily have escaped him, but she was tired. They refused to believe her when she pointed in the direction of the Abbotts’ house; its gray slate roof was partially visible through the tall trees on the hilltop.
Lloyd brought the buggy and off they went to the farm down th
e road. Yes, the farmers had found an Indian girl that morning. She had pointed in the direction of the Abbott house but they thought she must be mistaken. Only minutes earlier his brother left to take her to the Indian settlement on Manhasset Bay near Glen Cove. Hattie barely contained her agitation; she took deep breaths and reminded herself to remain calm; the child was in no danger.
Indigo was skeptical when the white man said he would take her home, but she thought he might know something she didn’t know. Not long after they turned west, they passed through a small settlement and then a village similar to Oyster Bay. She was happy to be going west, but she knew there was a great distance south she must travel as well to get back to Arizona.
The farmland gave way to salt marshes that ran to the edge of the ocean. Then the wagon turned off the road onto a narrow sandy trail that led to a cluster of old wooden buildings and beyond them. Two dogs came barking to greet them and Indigo saw heads peek out of doors and windows; the wagon stopped and a small group of women and men gathered around. Their clothes and shoes and the hats they wore fooled her for an instant, but Indigo saw their faces and realized these were Indians, though their features were very distinct from the people at home. They all looked at her and shook theirs heads slowly when the farmer asked if she was their child.
“No sir, this girl’s not from around here.”
The farmer looked at Indigo. He had not believed her when she told him that she came from the big house on the hill.
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