Indigo sat back on her bed ’tween Candace & Marie-Hélène, who whispered: “Listen, I’ve gotta idea, Indigo.”

“Mama, would you be mad if I played it someplace else? Outside, somewhere?”

Imagining she could use a nice hot toddy, the mother was going out Indigo’s door, when she turned round to say that Indigo could take the violin anywhere out of the neighborhood & make any noise she liked ’cause then she would have to talk to the strangers beseeching her: “Please, get a lesson, girl,” which is precisely what her mother had said.

Indigo patted the violin by her bed exactly where Aunt Haydee kept her shotgun. “No, Mama, that’s not what’s gonna happen.” She kissed Miranda good-night & went to sleep. Her mother left a glass of cider & a deep chocolate on Indigo’s night stand. It was midnight & the Moon was full.

Sister Mary Louise put Indigo & her violin behind the shed where she kept her gardening tools—shovels, vitamins for roses & violets, peat moss, watering cans, heavy gloves, rakes, & strings. Too much of the Holy Ghost came out of Indigo & that fiddle. Sister Mary Louise swore even she couldn’t stand that much spirit every day. “Back there behind the shed, Indigo, is just fine. Come anytime ya like. If I feel callt, I’ma come on out & listen.” That’s what Sister Mary Louise had decided about that. “Good for the plants. Too much order, too much gentility’ll make my flowers more prim than glorious. We all need a lil wildness.” So here came Indigo every day after school plying her new medium out back.