A Nest for Celeste: Chapters 27–37

“Tie him, quickly!” shouted a deep voice. She recognized it as Audubon’s. “And tightly! Here!” After more scuffling sounds the room quieted.

The tall, imposing figure of Audubon appeared in the doorway.

He stood with hands on hips, the thick shank of auburn hair hanging to his shoulders, studying Lafayette in the lamplight.

Lafayette glowered back, sitting hunched and tense. He had had enough of this man who sat watching him for hours and hours, scratching lines on paper.

“Well, what’ll I do, darlin’?” queried the osprey.

As if on cue, the heavy tread of Mr. Audubon’s boots could be heard climbing the stairs, then walking down the hallway.

“If I can ever be of any service, don’t hesitate to give a shout, anytime, day or night. I am forever obliged.”

Scaling to the summit of the mountain of mattresses, she studied her new domain.

Amid a confused jumble of chair legs and patterned fabrics Celeste could discern what looked to be a complete and perfect dining room...made for a mouse!

There were tiny, ornate picture frames, carved and beveled, holding tiny pictures: a still life, a portrait, a country landscape.

There were tiny, ornate picture frames, carved and beveled, holding tiny pictures: a still life, a portrait, a country landscape.

A fireplace and mantel had been artfully painted on one wall.

A fireplace and mantel had been artfully painted on one wall.

Celeste passed reverently into the last room.

Now that the house was bright and cheery, and its contents easy to see, she could open drawers, explore cabinets, shake out linens, polish brass, shine crockery, and sweep floors.

A breeze, fragrant with ripening grapes from the garden arbor, drifted through the missing windowpane.

At that moment there were two feelings inside Celeste’s tiny, rapidly beating heart that made her feel as full, and as empty, as a gourd.

The sheer beauty of this moment was perfect and sublime.

The sheer beauty of this moment was perfect and sublime.

She evenly distributed her meager spoils between the two baskets, securing the straps across her shoulders.

“What do you have there...a bread crumb? I’d have thought you’d bring home something more substantial than that. There better be more downstairs.”

She stifled a gurgled cry, as suddenly her nest seemed unsafe, uncertain, and unhappy.

But he agreed to take Trixie for a ride in the gondola, and Trixie clambered in.

Trixie was a tight fit after days of eating Celeste’s food and endlessly snoozing on the settee.

The blades of dried grass strained against her girth as Trixie squeezed in as much of herself as she could.

It dragged for a moment on the windowsill and then lurched into the sky.

She tiptoed through the house, savoring every single second of solitude, touching the furniture, sliding her paw along the flowers of the wallpaper, listening to nothing but the birds and insects in the garden outside.

Trixie was absorbed in screaming directions and was completely oblivious to the beauty of the awakening landscape.

“This basket is too cramped. And I’m feeling a little queasy. This flying business is for the birds!”

Joseph produced a walnut meat; and Celeste wiggled and squirmed deliriously, happy to be back in Joseph’s shirt pocket.

I saw some fancy buggies, and beautiful horses.

“I missed you, Little One. I had no one to talk to. I’d find myself talking like you were there. I’d say, ‘Look at that cage of nonpareils, Little One,’ or ‘Have you ever laid eyes on a lady with hair the color of a melon before, Little One?”’

The mockingbird, after a hiatus during the heat of dog days, was singing again from inside the magnolia.

She saw the dark shape of the gray cat sitting idly among the roots of the pecan tree, looking bored.

But a moment more and both Joseph and Audubon were astride their horses, Dash tagging behind.