“I’m glad you spared the lemon garden,” Edward said, because he was fond of the balustrades of pale limestone with the old lemon trees in their white stone pots along the walk.
“Actually I’ve not decided,” Susan said over her shoulder as she walked up the path to the lemon garden, “but all the statuary must go. The marbles are white Carrara, but they’ve not weathered well in most instances.” Edward noticed no damage; the gardens were well protected. She glanced at the two fat cupids embracing and Edward realized she was concerned about the propriety of the nude figures now that Josephine and Anna were young ladies. The noses and facial features of the marbles naturally softened with time, but there were other prominent features on the marbles not eroded enough.
Edward pointed out the interplay of shade and sunlight and the hues of green were soothing and cool; the Italian gardens here complemented the design of the house and were refreshing havens from the heat. The careful plantings of linden and plane trees, now mature, filtered the light to a lovely, luminous green-yellow, while the darker greens of the hollies and rhododendrons were inside the cool shadows.
Susan gave an impatient wave of her hand. At the time the architect designed the house and gardens she was newly married and had few ideas about gardens. Now she found the arrangement of shrubs and trees according to their hues of green artificial and boring; the geometric topiary forms were ridiculous. She wanted a natural garden filled with color — an English landscape garden with swaths of flowers in all colors from the bright to the shade. Edward asked for a reprieve for the lemon garden.
“I want to make photographs of the statues before the workmen take them away,” he said. He could see a number of the statues had already been removed and were lying helter-skelter on the lawn and terrace. He started back to the house to get the camera, but Susan wanted to show the child the birds.
They followed a narrow flagstone path shaded by a canopy of linden trees. Up ahead, Indigo heard excited chirping and the flutter of wings, and then she saw a great many brightly colored birds of different sizes. The aviaries were as large as the glass houses and made of the same steel framework; steel mesh took the place of the panes of glass.
The cage of finches fluttered excitedly in the leaves of the big potted fig trees that shaded them. The canaries sat quietly on the perches of their aviary and watched. To hear the lovely songs of the Chinese thrushes one must be there just at dawn, Susan said; their songs were the loveliest.
“What’s that bird called?” Indigo pointed at a bright green bird the size of a dove but with a thick hooked beak, alone in an ornate cage behind the aviary of thrushes.
“Oh that’s a parrot — I bought two of them because I thought they’d be handsome in that lovely gilded cage in the conservatory among orchids, but one died and now the whole look is spoiled. One parrot alone won’t do.”
Indigo tiptoed as close as she could to the cage bars to get a better look at the green parrot. It had a band of bright red feathers across its forehead above its curved beak, and the loveliest feathers of powder blue on the top of its head. The bird was perched on one leg with its head tucked under its wing.
“The bird looks ill,” Edward said.
“It hasn’t eaten well since it lost its mate,” Susan said without looking at the bird.
“What’s its name?” Indigo asked.
“Oh I don’t bother to name the birds,” Susan said. “There are so many.”
Indigo watched the parrot open its eye from time to time to gaze at her; it seemed to know it was the subject of discussion, but Indigo thought the bird looked too sad to care what was said.
“What happened to the other parrot?” Indigo asked without taking her eyes off the bird.
“Now, Indigo, it isn’t polite to ask questions.” Edward turned to go back down the path toward the house, but Indigo didn’t move.
“An accident — it was quite unpleasant,” Susan said. “I didn’t actually see it, thank goodness. Its mate was found dead — accidentally strangled by a toy, a piece of rope in the cage.” Indigo saw no toys or ropes in the cage now, only the lone parrot on its perch. As Susan followed Edward up the path, Indigo leaned close to the bars of the cage and whispered, “Don’t be sad, green parrot. I’ll come visit you every day!”
The following morning Edward left early for a meeting in the city with Lowe & Company’s lawyer, Mr. Grabb. Hattie did not sleep well the night before and awoke before dawn from a strange dream that left her oddly tired and a bit low. She asked her mother to give her apologies to Susan and the others making party favors; Hattie felt a great sense of relief after her mother went next door. She found Indigo in the parlor looking for pictures of parrots in a book about birds.
Hattie sat back in the armchair and closed her eyes. The dream itself was almost nothing — at first she saw the bishop at the altar with her mother and Susan and the bishop’s aid society gathered around him, but then she realized this was not a church but a dimly lit room, with case after case of empty bookshelves, a library table, and chairs. An overpowering sense of loss and sadness accompanied the dream and she woke in tears. Even to recall the dream stirred a sadness in her, so she turned her attention to Indigo, who was carefully studying a color plate of the parrots. She found herself smiling at the child’s serious expression as she searched for a picture of a green parrot like Susan’s. Edward was right about the benefits of travel for the child.
Indigo wanted to know more about parrots. She asked Hattie to take her to the aviaries every day, but the green parrot ignored the child. The fruits, nuts, and seeds remained in its dish untouched. Hattie feared the parrot’s condition was deteriorating before their eyes. When they were back in the house, Hattie gently reminded Indigo the parrot was ill, and she mustn’t become too attached to it. Moments later tears ran down Indigo’s face, but when Hattie asked what was wrong, the child accused her of lying about the well-being of the monkey. Hattie promised their lawyer in Riverside would not lie; they would ask him to find Linnaeus a little friend to share his cage.
“Mr. Yetwin will find the nicest little kitten he can and take it over at once for Linnaeus.”
Tears welled up in Indigo’s eyes; each time she thought of him, she prayed for Linnaeus to be safe until she returned; but she was careful not to think about him too long or she began to feel so lost and alone the knot in her throat wouldn’t let her breathe. But now, as she imagined a fat yellow-striped kitten leaping up the wisteria vines behind the mischievous Linnaeus, her tears dried.
“Is there a book with pictures of cats?”
“In the library,” Hattie said, and opened the door for Indigo. As she followed the child up the stairs, Hattie thought how odd her parents’ house seemed now — even her own bedroom no longer felt her own. Although she knew all the objects by heart, she no longer felt any attachment to them. Was it all the activity in preparation for the bishop’s benefit that made her anxious to be on their way to England?
Hattie recognized the startled sensation in her chest with its urgency that left her perspiring. She first felt the sensation the day her thesis adviser notified her that the committee had grave reservations about her thesis conclusion. The day she thought she might have to kiss the bishop’s ring the startled sensation surged up but disappeared as soon she reached fresh air. She worried the anxious sensation might return and incapacitate her as it had two years before.
Hattie was still feeling unwell and went to lie down, so Indigo went downstairs to the kitchen and found Lucille, who gave her a bowl of soup at the kitchen table. While she was eating, she heard Edward’s arrival from the city. Indigo could hear Mrs. Abbott’s voice clearly; “blue shoes for Indigo” brought her right out of the kitchen into the parlor.