A Nest for Celeste (17 page)

C
eleste watched for Lafayette above the treetops, returning from a fishing trip; and after a few days she spotted his flapping and gliding silhouette. She waved and raced back and forth across the sill, signaling to him.

Lafayette was surprised to meet Trixie. He didn’t understand why Celeste seemed different, too. She was very quiet and wouldn’t look him in the eye. But he agreed to take Trixie for a ride in the gondola, and Trixie clambered in.

“You made this thing too small!” she complained.

Celeste and Lafayette exchanged looks. 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.

“Well, what next?” she shrieked nervously. “I haven’t got all day.” Her eyes widened as she glanced down at the ground perilously far below. She dug her claws tightly into the rim of the basket.

With powerful flaps Lafayette lifted into the air, then grasped hold of the gondola handles. It dragged for a moment on the windowsill and then lurched into the sky.

“Hey! Mind yourself! Precious cargo down here, you know!” Trixie cried out.

With a swoop and a series of flaps, Lafayette and his passenger disappeared behind the treetops.

Celeste watched them go and then set about having
a blissfully peaceful morning, relishing the time she had in her home without Trixie’s braying voice invading her thoughts. 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.
That’s it
, Celeste thought.
I’ve lost my home yet again. Trixie has stolen it from me.

She sat in her chair on the windowsill and watched the sky beyond the trees for Trixie’s return. “Lafayette sure is taking her on a long ride,” she said to herself, scanning the horizon.

M
eanwhile, Lafayette struggled with his passenger. Trixie was absorbed in screaming directions and was completely oblivious to the beauty of the awakening landscape.

“You’re going too fast!” Trixie screamed up to him. “You’re going too high! And don’t flap so hard…. Feathers make me sneeze, you know!”

They approached the river. A thick, silvery, early-morning mist blanketed it.

“Where’s the river?” hollered Trixie. She shifted and twisted in the basket, squirming in an attempt at being comfortable in the tiny space.

“It’s right below us!” Lafayette called back. “We’re almost exactly over the middle of the river, ma’am. This is the widest point for miles. Sorry about the mist; makes it kind of hard to see much; but it’s mighty pretty anyway, don’t you think?”

The morning sun was catching the tips of the clouds, making the higher puffs pink and gold and orange.

“I don’t see what all the excitement is about,” replied Trixie. “This basket is too cramped. And I’m feeling a little queasy. This flying business is for the birds!”

“Want me to turn around?”

“Yes, I want you to turn around! Take me home. I need to lie down. Celeste better have breakfast ready when I get there.”

“Poor Celeste…” Lafayette mumbled.

“What did you say?”

“Oh, nothing, ma’am. I’m just gonna turn to head back.” And with that Lafayette gently banked his wings, and the pair headed toward the rising sun.

“Hurry up!” Trixie yelled. “It’s getting past my breakfast time.”

To emphasize her point she yanked
sharply on the gondola strap.

“But, ma’am, don’t you want to ride up along the river a bit? The fog will rise soon, and you’ll have quite a view.”

“I said, Hurry up! I’m hungry! The only view I want is of a plate full of food!”

With that she gave the strap another hard yank. In an instant, one end snapped, and the basket almost fell away completely. Trixie scrambled and clawed but could not grasp the strap soon enough. She plummeted down, grabbing at air, disappearing into the river mist like a rock tossed into a muddy pond.

Lafayette felt himself lift and bob upward, surprised by the sudden drop in weight.

“What the…Miss Trixie?” he called out as he looked down and saw only the dangling basket.

“Miss Trixie! Oh, holy crawdad! Miss Trixie!” he called again and again, circling and fanning out
above the mist. He swooped down, gliding just over the surface of the water, but heard no cries, saw no splashing.

Trixie was gone.

It seemed like hours before Celeste at last saw Lafayette’s silhouette against the midmorning sun. She squinted; it looked as if the osprey was flying very fast, faster than she had seen him fly before. And the basket: It was dangling and fluttering below Lafayette…and it was empty.

Celeste raced back and forth across the sill. “What happened? Where’s Trixie?”

“Darlin’, it just happened. Weren’t nobody’s fault, ’cept maybe Miss Trixie’s for eatin’ more than she ought’n to have. But she pulled on the basket handle, and one end broke, and down she went, right smack dab into the river. I went lookin’ for her, up and down the river, lookin’ at where the currents might
have taken her; but…I’m terribly sorry, sweetheart, about your loss; but that’s how it happened. I’m afraid Miss Trixie won’t be comin’ back.”

T
rixie didn’t return, but Joseph did—back from New Orleans.

From her windowsill Celeste heard the shouts of greeting as a horse trotted up the lane, and her pulse quickened as she saw Joseph was the rider. “He’s back!” she squeaked, scampering down the attic steps. Joseph yelped in delight when he found her perched on his worktable.

“Little One! You’re back! I knew you’d come back. I hoped and I prayed…but I knew you would.” Joseph produced a walnut meat; and Celeste wiggled
and squirmed deliriously, happy to be back in Joseph’s shirt pocket.

“You should have seen the city, Little One,” he said. “So much to see. All sorts of shops and markets, and so many people. The streets full of rich folks, poor folks, all kinds. I saw some fancy buggies, and beautiful horses. And at night the streets all lit up with gas lamps. And the smells! You need to be mighty careful where you step, let me tell you. I don’t know how they stand it—the smells—day after day. But New Orleans is quite a place.”

He gently fished Celeste out from his pocket and nuzzled her to his chin. “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?’”

They heard the big farm bell ringing outside; it was suppertime.

“I know better than to take you with me. Now, you be a good little mouse and stay here while I go eat some vittles.” Grabbing his bandanna, he fashioned her a nest and left her there on the desk. “I’ll be back.”

Celeste began to think of her attic home. “One short trip up the stairs,” she said to herself. “Just to see it one more time. I’ll be back before supper is over.”

Across the hallway she darted to the attic steps. She slipped through the knothole just as the cat was
sauntering its way down the hallway toward her.

Keenly aware of the fresh scent of mouse, the cat positioned itself at the knothole.

Celeste heard the clock downstairs chime one, two, three, all hours until the sun was nearly up. Finally, at dawn, Joseph returned from supper, calling for her, searching the room not far away. But he was exhausted after his journey from New Orleans and soon collapsed on the cot in a dead sleep. Still the cat sat and patiently watched the knothole.

Finally, near dawn, Celeste climbed the attic steps and nestled in her bed. She closed her eyes, thinking,
I’ll help Joseph with his paintings later. He’ll feed me nuts and scratch under my chin. That cat can’t guard the attic door forever.