A Nest for Celeste (16 page)

T
he draped sheet over Celeste’s new home made it feel close and dim, dusty and airless. She scampered to the floor and pondered.

Gathering a corner of the sheet in her mouth, she bit tightly. With claws gripping the rough oak floorboards, she leaned forward and pulled fiercely. Slowly the dusty sheet moved with her, inch by inch. Finally, in a rush of fragile and yellowing cotton, it slipped into a pile in front of the dollhouse, producing a haze of dust.

Celeste began straightaway to clean and make order of her new home. 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.

And that she did. She made a small broom using feathers from the old mattresses and a rag from a bit of mattress ticking. Soon the floors and walnut staircase glowed. She dusted and polished the chandelier and glass cabinet doors.

An inventory of the dining-room cabinet revealed a lace tablecloth, four china plates with matching cups and saucers, and a china serving platter. In one drawer Celeste found several tiny candles, partially melted from the summer heat in the attic.

She pulled one of the chairs from the living room out onto the windowsill. The missing pane afforded her the chance of catching a passing breeze, and from her perch she could see the comings and goings of
the plantation below.

Celeste felt contented after days of hard work. She straightened one last picture, fluffed up a sofa cushion, and then at last made her way to her bedroom.

Beams of a peach-colored sunset washed across the wallpaper, and the tiny room glowed with coppery peonies and amber hyacinths. A breeze, fragrant with ripening grapes from the garden arbor, drifted through the missing windowpane.

Celeste could now see out the window from her perch on the bed. Over and beyond the treetops lay an expanse of sunset-drenched lawn and fields and forest. Even the dusty windowpanes couldn’t dull the brilliant scene as Celeste lay on her soft, cottony bed. She nibbled on a watermelon seed, staring in rapture at the landscape stretching so far. A mockingbird was singing in the nearby magnolia.

She missed Joseph. She wished Cornelius or Lafayette were there.

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. But she was alone.

The golden edges of the clouds faded to soft pinks, then to gray blues; and finally the sky darkened. A few stars appeared. Celeste crawled under the soft blanket, tucking her nose under her paw, and sank into sleep.

W
hen she awoke, Celeste realized that laboring over her chores had worked up an appetite. She gathered two baskets and headed down the attic stairs and through the knothole.

The hallway was dark. Celeste scampered past Joseph’s room, then quickly stopped. Her ears flicked, her whiskers quivered, and her heart felt a sudden fullness. Was that the sound of his
pencil sketching? She felt dispirited when she realized it was just the distant ticking of the hallway clock downstairs.

The dining room seemed unusually still. There were leftover crumbs and bits dotted across the carpet, but certainly no bounty. The dining-room carpet had been swept. She sniffed the air for traces of cat.

Ducking beneath the sideboard for a short rest, she let out a tiny cry of surprise. The hole was no longer there: A short wooden board had been nailed to the wall, sealing off the entrance, and the emergency escape route, forever.

She evenly distributed her meager spoils between the two baskets, securing the straps across her shoulders. She studied the dining room and then ran cautiously toward the stairs.

The looming clock suddenly struck five, startling Celeste so that she left tiny claw marks in the waxy patina of the oak floorboard. Her heart beat furiously.
Some inner feeling was nagging at her. She sniffed the air again and again. Her whiskers twitched nonstop.

The journey across the hall, up the newel post and the stair rail seemed routine now, although still arduous. But there was a faint feline odor hanging in the air. Her dark eyes pierced the dim hallway, but there was no other sign of the cat.

Celeste reached the end of the upstairs hallway, then stopped in her tracks. The scent of cat fur and cat paws and cat breath quickly thickened, like a soupy mist moving in off the river. She saw it now: the dark, cloudy shape of the cat crouched and waiting, staring motionlessly at the knothole in the attic door, between Celeste and home. The cat didn’t see or hear Celeste. It seemed completely fascinated by the hole in the door.

Celeste hid as best as she could in the shadow of a bookcase that stood against the wall. She waited.

Rescue came in the unlikely form of Eliza Pirrie.

There was a swishing sound from the hallway downstairs and then continuing up the steps. Celeste pressed her body against the bookcase as Eliza glided by, inches away.

“There you are, Puss!” she exclaimed, hurrying to gather up the gray cat, who glared at her from the base of the attic door. “You’ve been hiding from me! Shame on you, Puss! Time for your breakfast!” Eliza carried the cat down the stairs, fussing and cooing. Celeste made a dash for the attic knothole.

It was a relief to be within the relative safety of the attic, and Celeste smiled contentedly at the thought of her warm, cottony bed with the soft satin pillows.

She unpacked her goodies, stowed her baskets, and nibbled a bread crumb as she made her way up the steps to her bedroom.

“Well, well, well,” squeaked a vaguely familiar voice. “You finally made it home. I hope you brought back something to eat.”

Celeste stared as the cool, gray, dawn light came creeping into the bedroom. There, stretched across her bed, pinched face and beady eyes poking out from beneath the pink blanket, was Trixie.

C
at got your tongue, Celeste?” Trixie yawned, showing her pointy teeth and fleshy gums. “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.”

Celeste felt all her blood surge to her feet; they seemed frozen to the floor. Her ears buzzed, and her mouth was dry. She stifled a gurgled cry, as suddenly her nest seemed unsafe, uncertain, and unhappy.

“Yes, it’s me,” continued Trixie. “Don’t look so surprised. Aren’t you happy to see me?”

“Trixie! Yes…yes, of course!” Celeste felt her voice stumble. “It’s just so unexpected!”

“I hid in the cellar for weeks. I saw you one night from the dining room as you were heading up the stairs. I wondered why you were going up and so I followed you. That darned cat almost got me this morning. Well…don’t just stand there like a ninny; go fetch me something to eat. I found your stash of raisins, and the piece of pork rind.”

“You ate the pork rind? All of it?” Celeste had been saving it for several dinners that week.

“Yes, all of it! That snively little morsel was barely a mouthful. And what’s that thing?” Trixie pointed to the nearby gondola on the windowsill. “Still making these silly baskets, I see. It looks like you got a little carried away with this one.”

“Yes, you could say that,” replied Celeste.

“How do you carry food in this? It’d be too heavy once it was filled.”

“It wasn’t made for food, Trixie. It was made for me.”

“Come again?”

“I took a ride in it. A friend, an osprey, carried the basket with me in it and took me for a ride.”

“What?”

“My friend Lafayette carried the basket, and we went all over the countryside. It was wonderful.”

“You’re lying. That’s impossible.”

Celeste was quiet.

Trixie glared at her. “If this osprey—whatever that
is—who took you on a trip around the countryside is such a good friend, then he wouldn’t mind taking
me
on one, too, would he?”

“Oh, I couldn’t ask Lafaye—”

“Why not? You think you’re so, so special, don’t you? So high and mighty, living in this fancy place, going on flying trips…. You’re just too good for your old friends now, is that it?”

“No, Trixie, it’s just that I couldn’t ask…”

“Look, you tell your friend that Miss Trixie wants to be taken for a ride. Tell him that I want to go
higher
, and
farther
, than
you
! Tell him that!”

“Well, you see, Trixie…”

“Tell him!”