Leslie Silko - Gardens in the Dunes

The wait for a reply from the bank in New York left her sleepless with anxiety; she never bothered to ask about liability if the line of credit were somehow exceeded. At the time of the wedding her parents quarreled over the sum released from the family trust; her mother wanted to retain half the sum until the birth of a child, but her father’s generosity prevailed. The remainder of the trust was just enough to see her parents through. How clearly she recalled her father’s pride as he persuaded her mother Hattie was a bright educated young woman who deserved to dispose of her legacy as she saw fit. Oh misplaced trust! Her father’s and hers!

As the weeks passed, she regretted her promise to Indigo. She could not get back to Road’s End in thirty days as she thought; a dozen letters and telegrams were sent and received over the bank account.

It was much colder now in Albuquerque and she wished for the warm boots and clothing she’d left behind when she moved from New York. She waited until the sun warmed the air around midday for her walks down Central Avenue; fragrant piñon fires scented the crisp air; she hoped Indigo and the girls had enough firewood. Road’s End was much farther south and at a lower elevation, so the winter was milder. The hotel clerk commented it usually wasn’t that cold in early December.

Most days it was too cold to walk all the way to the old town square and the church, but now she slipped in the back of the church behind the pews to warm herself. She passed the holy water font by the door, and ignored the crucified Jesus in the center of the altar; instead she stood in the alcove with the statue of Mary with the baby Jesus in her arms. How false they seemed after the terra-cotta madonnas in Laura’s black garden. My Mother, my Spirit —words from the old Gnostic gospels sprang into her mind. She who is before all things, Grace, Mother of Mythic Eternal Silence —after months in the oblivion of its shallow grave, her thesis spoke to her. Incorruptible Wisdom, Sophia, the material world and the flesh are only temporary — there are no sins of the flesh, spirit is everything!

Though she declined his invitation to dinner, the lawyer worked diligently on her behalf. Since her loan was secured by Edward’s interest in the meteor ore venture, Mr. Maxwell, the lawyer, suggested they go to the crater to see for themselves what the mine might be worth. Hattie was adamant about avoiding any contact with the Australian doctor, and the lawyer assured her he would take care of everything.

The train arrived in Winslow in a snowstorm the morning before Christmas. While Hattie got settled in her room, Mr. Maxwell made inquiries around town and learned the Australian doctor had not been seen for weeks. He left behind two small crates of rocks, which the hotel manager seized for the unpaid balance the doctor owed.

It became her practice to first unpack the box of carved gemstones to arrange them on a bureau or bedside table where she could see them. Given the least backlight, the gems had an almost magical translucence. How she envied the timeless space they occupied while mortals stumbled along in disgrace. She was weeks late to see poor Indigo! If the lawyer was encouraged by what they saw at the meteor mine site, Hattie planned to try to sell her entire interest to him for a modest sum — enough to provide for Indigo and to take her to England to Aunt Bronwyn.

Christmas morning was sunny, but as the snow melted, the roads in and around Winslow became nearly impassable. They were the only guests in the hotel dining room for Christmas dinner, but the hotel manager and staff were quite hospitable; perhaps they hoped Hattie or the lawyer might want the crates of rocks and pay the bill.

The following morning Mr. Maxwell hired a buggy complete with a heavy wool rug to cover them during the drive to the meteor crater. The snow was not deep but transformed the plain and the low hills and mesas beyond. The view from the crater rim dizzied Hattie, and the sharp winding trail into its depths unsettled Hattie’s stomach and gave her a headache. What had Edward’s last letter said about a meteorite fragment buried as if it were a baby? She wished she had stayed at the hotel — too much of Edward and the Australian were still here.

No one seemed to be at the mine site at the bottom of the crater. After a brief inspection of the machinery, Mr. Maxwell doubted much of the money went toward the purchase of new mining equipment. The only new piece of equipment was a giant spring-loaded cutter used to slice open the meteor irons; beneath the heavy sharp blade Hattie saw piles of fragments left over from poor meteor irons guillotined to reveal any diamonds or precious metals. Nearby, other crates of meteor irons awaited the blade.

The mud and standing water at the bottom of the crater lapped at the edge of the wagon road. The drilling rig and other equipment looked old and poorly maintained; Mr. Maxwell pointed out the hoses and pumps and speculated the shaft constantly flooded. While he walked around the ramshackle tents and shed, Hattie directed the driver to load the two crates of meteor irons into the buggy.

Mr. Maxwell gave her his assessment on the drive back to Winslow: except for the cutter, the equipment was nearly worthless, and the mining lease devalued by the seepage, which must be pumped constantly to keep the shaft dry. He thought he would be able to sell the cutter and the other equipment to cover his fees and her expenses thus far, with some money to get her on her way — but that was all.

Mr. Maxwell expressed concern about her plan to go to Needles; it wasn’t safe for a woman to travel alone out here. He wanted her to return to Albuquerque.

Nonsense! She’d been traveling alone for months quite safely.

After Mr. Maxwell departed, Hattie asked to see the rocks left behind by the Australian doctor. As she suspected, they were meteor irons, and despite her limited funds, she paid the hotel bill to get them.

At the depot in Needles the crates of meteor irons proved too heavy for the luggage cart even for the short trip around the corner to the hotel. The station attendant went for help, and to Hattie’s discomfort, returned with the sullen young man and his buggy. She gave the station man a dollar to send the crates and her valises ahead — she preferred to walk.

The hotel desk clerk appeared surprised to see her again; he handed her a letter that arrived weeks before from her father. The desk clerk asked she pay for the week in advance, which seemed odd until she realized the banker or the telegraph clerk alerted the others to her financial difficulties. After he struggled to bring the crates, her valises, and the trunks of supplies, she tipped the bellman a half-dollar to dampen the rumors about her insolvency.

Her father’s letter brought her to tears. He begged her to come home to them; they loved her so much and they were so proud of her no matter what anyone might say. They both were getting on in years and one day the house and land would be hers — she might as well come live there now. He knew about Edward’s overdrafts on her bank account from Colin, who was executor of Edward’s estate. She mustn’t worry — it was only money. Please come home.

She put the letter on the bed, and unpacked the little box with the carved gemstones. She held up each one to enjoy the play of light through the chalcedony and carnelian. She arranged them on the night table with Minerva and her snake flanked by the three white cattle and the waterbird and her chick.

No, she’d rather wander naked as Isaiah for years in the wilderness than go back to Oyster Bay to endure the stares and the expressions of sympathy. She refused to serve as the living example to frighten young girls judged too fond of studies or books.