How strange to think these small plants traveled so far with so many hazards, yet still thrived while Edward died. Grandma Fleet was right — compared to plants and trees, humans were weak creatures. Indigo wondered how Grandma’s apricot trees were. The shallow sandstone cave at the spring above the old gardens was a perfect place to keep the orchids when the hot weather came next year.
She had been thinking of the old gardens more and more. She didn’t tell Sister or the twins, but the other day, while she and her pets were weeding the garden and keeping the birds off, two or three of their flooded-out neighbors came and began to pace off the perimeters of the garden and set marker stones at each corner. A few days later the Indian preacher from the flooded church came with some others to look at the new fields planted next to theirs. The Indian preacher looked right at Indigo and even from a distance she saw his anger. Of course their beans and peas were already blossoming, and their amaranth was tall, while the crops in the new fields had barely sprouted. The twins said it didn’t matter that the flooded people planted late because white churchpeople sent them a wagonload of food once a month.
Maytha and Vedna returned around sundown after the wind died down; not long after, the guests began to arrive with their bedrolls and bundles of firewood. The little grandfather was awake and Sister asked Indigo to watch him on his blanket while she helped the twins serve gourds of beer outside. As it got dark, Linnaeus curled up next to Indigo on her blankets and Rainbow climbed on top of his cage and tucked his head under his wing to sleep.
The argument with Sister left Indigo exhausted. She did not remember falling asleep, but when she woke the sun had been up for a while but so had Linnaeus and Rainbow. She forgot to shut them in their cages before she fell asleep and now both of them were gone. Indigo could see where the monkey played with the empty beer gourds and the parrot chewed off the gourd rims soaked with beer. They found her notebook and scattered her color pencils, but none were chewed. The orchids on the window ledge were untouched.
Sister was asleep with the little grandfather in her arms, and the twins slept outside with the guests, but Indigo woke them. Had they seen the monkey and the parrot? No. They rolled over again — even Sister didn’t care.
She walked among the sleeping guests and the campfire burned down to white ash but saw no trace of them. If only the weather had been colder, they would not have wandered out of the house. She felt the panic rise up her spine. Linnaeus would be killed by the neighbors’ dogs, and poor Rainbow torn apart by an eagle or a hawk. She had to find them fast.
Indigo ran to the garden. Around the pea plants she found parrot-shredded remains of pea pods, and neatly opened bean pods — the work of the monkey fingers — all freshly picked; good thing the girls didn’t come down to the garden very often. They left the garden to Indigo now that they had guests nearly every night.
The parrot and the monkey were probably in the amaranth now because it was tall and thick enough to hide them; she called their names as she waded into the thick stands, shoulder high in some places. The amaranth grew all the way to the back boundary of the field where they set their horsehair snares for rabbits; maybe she’d find them trapped. But the web-like snares were empty, and her heart began to pound in her chest as she realized the two had gone into their neighbors’ gardens, where the plants were smaller and more tender.
As she stepped over the low sandy ridge that formed the boundary, she saw the damage at once. Limp, wilted pea and bean plants were strewn all around; in the rows of beans closest to the road she spotted them side by side; the monkey had both fists full of baby plants; the parrot worked rapidly, tasted only the tendrils, then dropped the rest. The monkey picked the seedlings more carefully and ate all but the roots.
“No!” she called out. “Stop that!” They both looked at her calmly and went on with their feast until she reached them. Linnaeus looked up at her with big eyes and extended a fist full of bean seedlings to her, and Rainbow waddled over and grabbed hold of the hem of her dress with his beak to climb onto her until she lifted him to her shoulder. They were so dear; she loved them so much, she couldn’t bear to scold them; how could they know these plants belonged to the neighbors?
Quickly she removed all the evidence she found — torn plant remains and any parrot and monkey tracks she saw. She looked around but saw no one and hurried back to the house; she hoped the neighbors would blame ground squirrels or sparrows for the missing seedlings.
♦ ♦ ♦
Hattie did not intend to stay in Albuquerque so long, but there was little the bank officers there could do, except advise her to contact her New York bank directly. Though she was low on funds she hired a lawyer, Mr. Maxwell, to make sense of what the bank had done when Edward over-drafted the line of credit. Mr. Maxwell was an older man, whose announcement that he was a widower left Hattie feeling uncomfortable, especially after he sent a dinner invitation to the hotel.
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.