Leslie Silko - Gardens in the Dunes

“I can’t thank you enough,” Hattie said, then shook hands with the woman before she stepped into the buggy.

“Good-bye,” Indigo called out to the woman, who waved at her until the wagon turned onto the road. Her eyes filled with tears.

“I hate that English word!” Indigo said, fiercely wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her dress.

“Don’t you have a word in your language that means ‘good-bye’?” Mr. Abbott inquired gently.

“No! ‘Good-bye’ means ‘gone, never seen again’! The Sand Lizard people don’t have any words that mean that!”

“What do people say to one another when someone leaves on a journey?”

“They say, ‘We’ll see you soon,’ or, ‘We’ll see you later.’ ” Indigo replied so vehemently Mr. Abbott was taken aback.

She flung herself down on the buggy backseat and covered her face with both hands.

“She is so unhappy,” Hattie said in a low voice as Mr. Abbott glanced back at the sobbing child. “I feel as if I should let Edward go on without us and take the child back to her family.”

“But I thought you wrote that the child is an orphan.”

Hattie shook her head. “Apparently there is some confusion. She says she has a mother and a sister.”

But Edward was depending on her, and Aunt Bronwyn was looking forward to their visit, though it would be brief. The government red tape would take months to untangle; in the meantime Indigo was better off with them than at the school. Hattie reached over and patted Indigo’s back soothingly.

“Indigo, I promise. As soon as we return, we’ll find your mother.” Indigo sat up on the seat and wiped away the tears with the back of her hand.

“And Sister Salt!” Indigo cried out. “Don’t forget her!”

They did not get home until nearly three o’clock. Edward and Hattie’s mother met them at the door.

“You three look exhausted!” Mrs. Abbott said.

“It was the anxiety that was so exhausting,” Hattie said as she removed her hat and duster.

“I’ll have the maids heat water for baths.” Hattie nodded as she and Indigo climbed the stairs hand in hand.

“That was quite an adventure you had today, wasn’t it?” she said. Indigo nodded solemnly.

“We’ll bake cookies later this week and bring some to the nice woman who took care of you.”

“I would like that,” Indigo said. “Maybe we could ride there on ponies.” She did not want them to forget. She hoped Edward borrowed a nice pony.

Over breakfast the next morning, Mrs. Abbott announced the arrival of their invitations to the Masque of the Blue Garden, two weeks away.

“How perfect that you’ll be here!” Mrs. Abbott exclaimed, her face animated with pleasure. Everyone who had attended the ball the year she and Edward met would be there. Hattie set her cup down in its saucer. During their yearlong engagement, close relatives and acquaintances, both hers and Edward’s, invariably mentioned how divine it was they had met at the Masque of the Blue Garden. Hattie was not sure she could endure an entire evening of similar exclamations and remarks from people she barely knew. Hattie looked across the table at Edward to gauge his reaction, but he seemed unconcerned.

Mrs. Abbott knew how to translate silence from Hattie, so she quickly added, if the Masque of the Blue Garden was too much, she and Susan would plan a series of dinner parties in their honor to allow family and friends to visit with Hattie and Edward. Hattie did not relish either prospect and decided the Masque of the Blue Garden was preferable; all the probing glances and questions about them and their new life in California would be relegated to one night, instead of six nights. Hattie was grateful the conversation turned to horseback riding; Indigo was anxious to know when they were going. As soon as they finished breakfast, Edward replied.

Indigo discovered riding horses wasn’t as easy as it looked; the pony’s fat sides were difficult to grip with her legs. Hattie explained how to press her boot heels down hard in the stirrups to brace herself, though her legs must flex up and down to keep time with the horse’s trot. The reins were the tricky part; if Indigo forgot to hold them just right, the pony stopped and refused to move. Indigo tried to pet the pony and talk to it, but the pony’s brown eyes were angry.

“He doesn’t like to be ridden,” Indigo called out to Hattie, who was trotting her horse up and down the paddock.

“Don’t worry! He’s a spoiled pony but you’ll show him who’s boss!”

Indigo began to have second thoughts. She didn’t want to be the boss of any pony that didn’t want to be ridden, but Hattie gestured for her to come on. Indigo cautiously nudged the pony’s sides with her heels. The pony pinned back its ears at the irritation but followed the horse Hattie rode. Indigo remembered to post up and down in the stirrups as the pony trotted along. Though Indigo tried to pull the pony’s head to the left, the pony refused to take the middle of the path; instead it veered along the path’s edge as close as it could get to the branches of trees and shrubs to scrape her boot and riding skirt.

Hattie’s horse ran on ahead, but the pony refused to change its course despite Indigo’s sharp tugs on the reins. Now the heavy twill fabric of Indigo’s riding skirt was pulled and snagged by sharp branches as the fat pony tried to scrape Indigo off its back. She felt the sharp point of a branch poke her right knee through the cloth; closer and closer the pony ran to the bushes and trees next to the path; now the leaves and twigs of the branches were slapping her face and pulling her hair. Suddenly she felt a sharp stab in her ankle and felt the fabric give way with a ripping sound. Her ankle ached from the blow and she felt the stinging sensation of a deep scratch, but she could do nothing but flatten herself against the saddle, head down, and hold on as best she could with a fistful of the pony’s mane. The ground flashed by faster and faster as the pony ran out of control.

Hattie glanced over her shoulder and saw Indigo’s distress. Hattie pulled back hard on the reins and wheeled the thoroughbred around to block the path of the runaway pony. As soon as the pony saw its stable mate turn back on the trail ahead, the pony began to slow; it stopped next to Hattie’s horse.

“Indigo! Are you all right?” Hattie called out as she dismounted and went to Indigo’s side. Indigo’s heart was pounding as she cautiously released her grip on the pony’s mane and sat up straight again in the saddle with both hands on the reins.

“Are you hurt?” Hattie looked anxiously at Indigo’s face; she could see the child’s discomfort. Indigo shook her head, but two big tears rolled down her cheeks. She leaned down and rubbed her right ankle and felt the torn riding skirt. Hattie pulled back the torn fabric and exposed the long scratch that oozed a bit of blood.

“Oh Indigo! I’m so sorry!” Hattie said as she helped Indigo dismount. The child was shaking and Hattie gathered her into her arms and hugged her.

Edward rode up just then and led their horses behind his horse while they walked home. He was feeling rather discouraged about the success of the visit so far. He didn’t blame the child. She was a welcome diversion from the thoughts crossing and recrossing his mind. So much depended on the success of the trip abroad; he could feel the anxiety stir in his chest. He longed to be gone from the Scottish gardener and the Welsh pony, to be under way to Bristol, to be one ocean closer to the citron trees in the dry hills of Corsica.

Hattie assumed Indigo’s tears were due to the deep scratch on her ankle, and she tried to soothe the child with promises of medicine for the pain. Indigo did not reply; she felt nothing as sharply as the hurt feelings, the sadness at the fat pony’s betrayal of her daydreams about flying along on horseback. She should have known better. Grandma Fleet used to warn her about approaching unfamiliar dogs or mules because sometimes mistreated animals attack without warning. It would have been better to take days or even weeks to make friends with the fat pony before she tried to ride him. Edward might know a great deal about plants and Hattie might know a great deal about books, but they didn’t know much about ponies.