Leslie Silko - Gardens in the Dunes

“I know Susan isn’t easy to know,” he said as they relaxed on the bench and watched the child pet the goats. “But I think a spirit of amity between you and Susan is important, and the ball is the highlight of her year.”

The next day, after Lucille cleaned up the breakfast dishes, she mixed the ingredients for gingerbread dough. Hattie rolled out the dough and Indigo used the cookie cutter to make the little dough men. Indigo pressed raisins into the faces for the eyes and nose, and a bit of candied cherry for the mouth.

Later, when the cookies had cooled, Hattie prepared a box of gingerbread men wrapped in wax paper. After Lloyd returned from taking Edward to the ferry, he drove Hattie and Indigo past Glen Cove to the salt marshes and dunes, down the sandy lane to the small, unpainted wood houses with fishing nets hung out to dry. No faces peeked out windows or doors, and Lloyd pointed at the iron padlocks on some front doors.

Indigo recognized the button maker’s house by the mounds of broken shells in the front yard. Hattie held the box of gingerbread while Indigo knocked, but no one was home. A strong breeze came off the ocean and the salt marsh grasses rustled as Hattie stood looking in the direction of other houses for some sign of life. Indigo reached into her pocket and touched the shell button the woman gave her; she carried the button with her everywhere she went because the button was her first gift from another Indian and because the shell came out of the same ocean she soon must cross. After Hattie knocked at another door with no response, Indigo suggested they leave the box of cookies on the old chair by the front door. To keep any stray dogs and the gulls away, Indigo took an old wooden bucket and turned it upside down over the box on the chair. Years later Indigo always wondered if her friend the button maker found the box of gingerbread men still under the bucket when she returned.

The sounds of the wind in the grass and the nearby waves gave the deserted village a lonely feeling that did not leave Indigo until the carriage pulled around the driveway to the house and she saw Mr. Abbott walking from the stables with two brown-and-white goats on leashes. He smiled and waved for Indigo to come join him. Lloyd stopped the carriage and Indigo ran across the lawn and took the leash he offered.

As they walked along behind the grazing goats, Mr. Abbott told Indigo all about his plans for poor people to use goat carts for transportation. At the edge of the woods, the goats turned away from the wild blackberry bushes reluctantly, but they came along quite obediently once they realized they were headed home. Indigo helped Mr. Abbott feed two orphaned baby goats with bottles of warm milk. She was happy to see the little goats’ gusto as they thrust their mouths against the black rubber nipples, nearly pushing the bottles out of their hands.

Just then Hattie came in the barn with a bright blue garment over one arm; Indigo’s dress must be fitted. Indigo left the goats for the upstairs parlor, where the dressmaker and her assistant helped her step up onto the little pedestal so they could pin up the hem of the bright blue silk dress.

“My hands smell like goats,” Indigo said, sniffing, then dropping her hands back to her sides. The seamstress and Mrs. Abbott exchanged glances and Mrs. Abbott turned to Hattie.

“You could have taken her to wash up first. When I told you to hurry back I didn’t mean bring a dirty child.”

“The child is not dirty, Mother; she only petted the goats. Father bathes those goats every day,” Hattie said stiffly. “Father is the one who smells of goats.” Mrs. Abbott seemed not to hear what Hattie said; she was preoccupied with the fit of the dress around Indigo’s waist as the seamstress arranged the fabric. Afterward, Indigo stood barefoot on a piece of paper while Hattie traced the shape of her wide feet for matching slippers.

“Hattie, are you wearing your good slip? You’ll be next for a fitting after the child,” Mrs. Abbott said.

With the Masque of the Blue Garden only days away, Hattie and her mother joined Susan James and the other women of the bishop’s aid society to complete preparations. Place cards were lettered and little blue satin bows were tied for the menus and the individual nosegays that were to grace each place setting. One afternoon the bishop himself stopped by for tea with the women of the aid society to express his appreciation for their generous efforts.

Hattie attended the tea for the bishop out of curiosity, because she overheard the women talk as they curled the crepe paper flower petals with their scissors. The bishop was much younger than his predecessor and quite charming; he was amiable and smiling as he surveyed the centerpieces and other decorations; his face was animated with pleasure as his eyes moved from face to face, as if appraising each woman. Hattie watched the women of the aid society line up to kneel to kiss the bishop’s amethyst ring. The bishop’s visit was their reward, and she did not begrudge their pleasure with the handsome bishop with only a few flecks of gray in his beard.

The bishop’s cassock smelled of church incense and reminded Hattie of the Saturday religious instruction class of long ago. The bishop’s booming voice and jolly chuckle rose above the happy hum of the aid society women, who excitedly whispered to one another after they kissed the bishop’s ring. Mrs. Abbott made quick little hand motions for Hattie to join her in the line to kiss the ring. Hattie felt her face flush when her mother called out to her as the line grew shorter. She shook her head and fanned herself with a piece of paper. The bishop’s presence seemed to saturate the entire ballroom with an odd energy that left Hattie feeling light-headed, as though she might faint. She rose from her chair so suddenly her scissors slipped from her lap, and one blade stuck straight into the hardwood parquet floor. She felt she would faint if she did not reach the door; her mother followed after her into the fresh air and the ill feeling passed.

As the day of the ball drew closer, Susan frequently left Mrs. Abbott in charge of the aid society volunteers while she donned her big sunbonnet to go out to supervise the workmen to hurry the completion of the English landscape garden along the driveway. The newly created hills were bright green with new turf the workers unrolled to fit seamlessly; large azaleas and mature dogwoods were transplanted, but the new hills needed something more to give the appearance of maturity.

The bishop’s aid society volunteers were lettering the dozens of place cards when the dour face of the Scottish gardener once again popped around the door of the ballroom where the women worked at the tables. Good news, Susan said as she tied the sunbonnet under her chin. Her gardener had located two great copper beech trees at an old farm on the south shore, and now preparations were completed to move and transplant the beech trees together on the new hills.

The route of the two giant beech trees on their wagons took them through downtown Oyster Bay and necessitated workmen to temporarily take down electrical and telephone lines to allow the huge trees to pass. Hattie was embarrassed by her sister-in-law’s excess and stayed behind to letter place cards with the other women. Edward and Mr. Abbott took Indigo along to witness the spectacle of the pair of sixty-foot trees inching through downtown Oyster Bay. People lined the street to stare at the odd procession. Indigo stood on the back of the buggy to get a better view. The slow progress of the wagons loaded with the trees gave Edward time enough to set up his camera to record the event.

Indigo was shocked at the sight: wrapped in canvas and big chains on the flat wagon was a great tree lying helpless, its leaves shocked limp, followed by its companion; the stain of damp earth like dark blood seeped through the canvas. As the procession inched past, Indigo heard low creaks and groans — not sounds of the wagons but from the trees. The Scottish gardener and Susan followed along behind the wagons in a buggy.