A Nest for Celeste (15 page)

C
eleste once again climbed up to the bed rail and began gnawing at the leather tie.

She stopped for a moment.

“Look,” she said. “I’ve got an idea. You’re going to think it’s a bit odd, but please trust me.”

“Okeydokey, sugar plum, I trust you. What’s the idea?”

“When Monsieur Audubon returns, he’s going to sketch you again, correct?”

“Correct.”

“And he’s going to try over and over, and get very frustrated, correct?”

“Correct.”

“And he’s going to try and capture your beauty with pencil and paper, correct?”

“Correct.”

“And if he doesn’t get it right, you may end up stuffed and pinned, correct?”

“I prefer not to think about that, if you don’t mind, peach blossom.”

Celeste giggled. “Well, so, you need to help him!”

“Come again?”

“Pose! Be yourself, but pose. Help him out.”

“Help him out? He’s got me tied up here like a prisoner, and you want me to help him out?”

“Would you do it, for me?”

“Well, what’ll I do, darlin’?” queried the osprey. “Jump up and down? Clamor around like a parakeet? I’m new at this, you know.”

“Pretend that you’re on top of the tallest sycamore tree you can think of,” said Celeste, hardly daring to whisper. “Like you’re just about to scream out across the river. Wings up! Look excited! Look dangerous! Look…
alive
!”

Lafayette pondered for a moment, then he raised his wings and opened his beak as if to call out.

“The back wing up, the wing in front down a bit,” directed Celeste.

“You’ve got to be pulling my leg! Why in the world would I do this?”

“Hold it right there!” whispered Celeste. “That’s
it! Don’t move a feather!”

The osprey froze in place. “Like this? You sure? I feel ridiculous!”

“You look great! This is going to be perfect!”

“He’s going to think I’m about to attack!”

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

“
Shh!
He’s coming back! Don’t move!” squeaked
Celeste as she scampered to a hiding place.

The boots turned into the studio doorway.

“Mon Dieu!”
Audubon gasped, staring at the osprey. “
C’est ça! Parfait! Toi! Le beau spécimen!
You are magnificent!” He stared for nearly a minute, then grabbed a large piece of watercolor paper and a handful of pencils and began to sketch.

There, in front of her, Celeste watched as Lafayette’s body and wings began to form on the paper. Only an outline at first, but feathers, streaks, spots, and other details soon followed. Audubon’s pencil raced in every direction; his eyes, bright with excitement, studied the bird’s every feather.

He drew a gaping beak, opened as though screaming across a valley, and wings outstretched in flight. “I’ll put a fish in your talons, like you have just pulled it from the Mississippi,” he said out loud.

Next, out came a wooden box of watercolors.

Celeste couldn’t help herself as she crawled out from behind the paint box. Mesmerized, she watched Audubon use a variety of soft brushes and an old shaving mug filled with water as he transformed the penciled outline into an osprey full of chocolate brown and tawny cream. A golden yellow eye blazed fiercely. He added a background sky of cool blues.

At last the artist sat back. He stretched his long arms and smiled at the osprey.

“
Merci
, my friend,” he said; and he lay on the bed, asleep within several ticks of a clock.

Lafayette blinked and lowered his wings. He glanced over at the paint box lid. Celeste smiled approvingly.

A
h! You’re almost there, Celeste!” whispered Lafayette encouragingly. “Just a little bit more.”

Celeste felt her jaw muscles ache. Gnawing tough leather was not easy.

“A little more…just a little more…Yes! That’s it!”

The heavy leather strap fell to the floor, and Lafayette leaped up with a flap of wings.

They glanced at the bed; Audubon was snoring peacefully.

“Pumpkin pie,” Lafayette said, “you are one good friend to have around! My, oh my, but does this feel
good. Thank you, darlin’, from the bottom of my ever-lovin’ heart!”

“You’re welcome,” she said, rubbing her swollen jaw.

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

“Would you come visit me?” queried Celeste.

“Well, sugar lamb, I’ll definitely be keeping an eye on you,” promised the osprey. He nodded at his wing. “But it may be a while before I come for a visit. It’s a dangerous world out there. Now, you be careful, you hear?”

“You be careful, too, Lafayette.” Celeste smiled.

And with that the osprey flapped to the open window, tested his lame wing, leaped joyfully into the air, and was gone.

C
eleste decided that, until Joseph returned, the safest place to be was in the attic, where the knothole entrance kept out the menacing inhabitants of the house. The nest she made in the old feather mattress was cozy, safe, and quiet.

She decided to explore her attic home a bit
more. Scaling to the summit of the mountain of mattresses, she studied her new domain. Across the way next to the window, which was missing a pane, she saw another mountain: a draped sheet.

Celeste crawled under the old sheet and blinked. In the musty shadows she saw—or did she see?—a tiny, mouse-sized chair. And was that a miniature tasseled pillow? 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. Clustered around a tiny dining table were several chairs, each with a needlepoint seat.

Celeste made her way past a corner cabinet with glass doors; she puffed on a pane and wiped it gingerly with her paw. Inside she saw plates and cups and saucers, pieces from a blue-and-white china set. Opening a cabinet door below, she found what looked to be a tablecloth.

She passed through a doorway and entered another room. The light was a little better here, and she noted the lavender-striped wallpaper.

“This must be the living room,” she whispered. A beautiful sofa, just her size, covered in maroon velvet, lay on its back. Two chairs and several small tables were also overturned. A fireplace and mantel had
been artfully painted on one wall. Over it was the oval portrait of a young girl; her face looked familiar. A set of stairs in one corner of the living room led to another story above.

Celeste climbed the stairs and then tiptoed her way into a bedroom. As with the rooms below, the contents here were also tossed about and covered in dust: a small bed and nightstand, an oval hooked rug, and a ladder-back chair painted orange. A washbasin and pitcher lay on the floor. Next to the bed was another door.

Celeste passed reverently into the last room.

Through the dim light she saw an enormous four-poster bed covered with a soft, pink blanket. Two satin pillows were trimmed in tiny lace ribbon. Beside the bed was a small table draped with a lace cloth. Against one wall stood a wooden armoire with flowers and vines painted up the sides and on each door. A large, overstuffed chair sat perched on a small rug. The walls were covered in flowery wallpaper, making
Celeste feel as though she were in a magical garden.

“This is the most beautiful room that has ever been,” she murmured to herself.

The bed looked comfy and inviting; Celeste ran her hand along the soft blanket and then crawled up. The bed was stuffed with cotton bolls, and she sank blissfully into it, head plopped onto a silk pillow.

“I’ve found
home
,” she said to herself. “There is nowhere else I’d rather be.” She smiled and fell asleep.

And indeed, it was a lovely nest for a mouse.