A Nest for Celeste (10 page)

She paused for a moment, thinking. She hadn’t ever permitted herself to bring up memories of that day. It felt good to tell Cornelius.

“Thanks for listening,” she said. “I didn’t mean to go on and on. My plan now is to get you out of this cage…. But in the meantime, can I bring you anything? Something special that you like to eat perhaps?”

Cornelius replied excitedly. “Something like dogwood berries? The dogwood berries are beginning to ripen, and I haven’t had one since last fall. I noticed a dogwood tree in the yard, just next to this house, with red and green berries all over it. Dogwood berries would be lovely!”

“That should be simple enough,” said Celeste.

“You could do that?”

“I’ll see what I can do. I can try finding some once it gets a little darker outside.”

“Wonderful. Being in this cage is a nightmare!
You’ve given me…well…a little glimmer of hope.”

The wood thrush then lifted his head and let loose a startlingly clear warble that resonated throughout the room. The beauty of it made Celeste’s chest give a tiny heave; and she felt a pang, and an ache so intense that her heart skipped and trembled. She clutched at it with her paw.

The lilting birdsong ended, and the room was still.

“I don’t know which I like better,” Celeste whispered, “your beautiful song, or just after.”

The thrush smiled.

“Do that for Joseph,” Celeste stated firmly. “Sing just like that. Promise me.”

Cornelius shrugged his wings, then nodded.

T
he stagnant air sat unmoving around the plantation. The oppressive heat seemed even hotter because of the persistent drone of cicadas in the treetops. Celeste looked out over the garden from her vantage point on the bedroom windowsill. She could see a dark bank of clouds far off to the west, still miles away but moving toward the plantation. If she wanted to find Cornelius some dogwood berries—and she
had said that she would try—she’d have to do it soon; she did not want to be caught out in a storm.

She remembered when Ellis once spoke of a tunnel, a little-used passage that led from under the floorboards through the stone foundation of the house to the outside beyond the cellar. Maybe she could use this passageway to locate the dogwood tree. She bid Cornelius good-bye and set off.

The early evening provided enough shadows to hide Celeste. From Joseph’s room she warily made her way down the two flights of stairs and to the dining room without being discovered. She saw no sign of the cat; perhaps the heat of the day had sent it to doze on the front porch.

Her old home under the floorboards seemed even dustier and darker than she remembered. Her remaining baskets lay in a jumble. She picked the largest and strongest
one, throwing it over her shoulder.

She checked all along the tunnel under the sideboard. Finally she discovered a small entryway. It led to a crevice between the cool stones of the house’s foundation. Up ahead, she saw daylight.

She poked out her nose and then emerged from the house into a tangle of shrubbery, feeling thankful that she was hidden.

Her eyes widened at the scene around her. She suddenly realized how alone and vulnerable she was without the protection of Joseph’s shirt pocket. The forest of plants, the sounds, even the red clay soil under her toes seemed foreign to her. Each of her senses prickled with excitement.

She looked up between the branches of an azalea bush. Steely gray cloud formations were now blocking what was left of a pink streak of sunset, and she heard deep rumblings of thunder. There were shouts near the barns and fields, warnings and commands: A storm was coming and all things needed to be secured. Celeste heard the whinnies of horses as they were hurried into the barn, along with wagons of cotton and flax.

The barn! Now to find the dogwood tree.

Her eyes moved from the barn to the split-rail fence that surrounded a pen, and she could see, even from this distance, a large hog lying there.
She hurried through the yard and across the lane to the pen.

The hog seemed to be asleep. Celeste climbed up onto one of the rails and called out.

“Hello!”

The hog woke up with a quick snort. He was enormous, with friendly, curious eyes.

“Hmm? Who’s that?” he asked.

“Sorry to interrupt your nap,” Celeste said, “but could you direct me to the nearest dogwood tree?”

“Dogwood? With the little red berries? Follow your nose! End of the fence there’s a dogwood. Just stay on the fence rail and you’re there!”

“Thank you! Thank you so much!” Celeste called out as her tiny paws scampered along the split rail. And indeed, ahead of her she saw a small tree laden with red fruit.

“Hey! Get inside!” she heard the hog grunt after her. “Storm’s comin’!”

Now to find the dogwood tree.

She decided to turn right, and dodged around ivy vines and iris leaves, nearly bumping into a fat, brown toad.

“Hey, dearie! Where’s the fire?” the toad croaked.

Celeste gulped. She had never seen anything that looked quite like this.

“Hello,” she stammered. “I’m looking for a dogwood tree…but I’m not sure where it is. I can’t get my bearings…. Do you know of any nearby?”

“Dogwood, eh?” answered the toad. “Yep. You’re heading the wrong way. Turn around; head straight, all the way to the corner of the house. Can’t miss it.”

“Thank you very much!” Celeste turned and started off. She heard a rumble of thunder not far off as the storm started to blow in.

“Better be fast, dearie!” the toad called after her. “Storm’s comin’! Feels like it’s going to be a big one!”

The toad watched Celeste race away, then hopped into the protection of the ivy vines. “Yep,” she croaked to herself. “Every bump on my skin can feel it. It’s going to be a real big one!”

C
eleste ran along the edge of the stone foundation, hurrying beneath an arching tunnel of azalea and camellia bushes. At the corner of the pen she arrived at last at the dogwood, branching low to the ground and easily climbed. Not too high, but at the ends of the branches, she saw red and green berries.

Up she went, nimbly scrambling along a branch until she came to ripening clusters of the dogwood fruit. Immediately she began nibbling off berries and stowing them in her basket.

Suddenly the thunder stopped rumbling and started crackling.

“Chew! Chew faster!” Celeste said to herself. Her jaw began to ache. By the time she had just a small bit of room left in her basket, the first drops of rain began to fall. Each as big as her ear, the drops fell from the black sky like spears. They pummeled her, nearly knocking her off the branch, nearly blinding her. Others struck her back and shoulders, drenching her fur. Then, with an eerie roar, the wind picked up and tossed the treetops.

The leaves around Celeste were flattened and beaten as the rain increased. Drops slashed at her face. Rivulets ran down the tree trunk and then gathered into streams and waterfalls.

What had been low rumbles of thunder churned into waves of crackling fury as lightning flashed in the sky. Trickles of rainwater on the ground quickly
became streams, then torrents, turning reddish brown with clay.

A crash of lightning hit so close by it seemed inches away, shaking and rattling windows of the house, and Celeste screamed in terror. In the brilliant flashes she could see rivers of water everywhere and a tangle of wet, flapping leaves. Disoriented and terrified, she floundered through the chaos, trying to find her way back down the branch.

The wind increased even more, rocking the tree and buffeting Celeste back and forth, rattling the roof of the barn, and blowing bits of leaves and debris into the sky like gunshot.

A particularly furious gust of wind whipped the branches of the small tree, and Celeste struggled to hang on. The basket of berries was ripped from her, and it flew away, lost in the swirling maelstrom. And then she finally lost her grip and was blown from the branch, out into the dark blast.

A moment later she was plunging into a whirlpool of brown-red water, leaves, sticks, and other debris. She kicked furiously and came to the surface, squeaking helplessly. The fast current grabbed her; and she bobbed up and down, gasping for air, paddling with her front paws and kicking with her hind feet. A large piece of bark struck her; and she clutched at it, throwing her body over it, clinging desperately. Heavy rain slashed and slammed into her face; and she choked and coughed on water and mud.

The road leading to the plantation had become a small but raging creek; and by the lightning flashes Celeste was terrified to see that she was being carried away from the lights of the house and out into the darkness.

She was chilled to her core and starting to shake.

The current got stronger. Water gushed in a torrent that carried off the little bark raft with Celeste, numb with cold, clinging to it.

After riding through a series of rapids and strong currents, the raft bumped into a muddy bank and slowed, then drifted against a sandy shoal and stopped. The heavy rain had stopped and was followed by a cold drizzle. Celeste’s coat was soaked and caked with mud and sand. She shivered with uncontrollable spasms. All her strength was spent. As her mind turned to darkness, she sank into a deep sleep, her cold body wet and sagging over the curled piece of sycamore bark.