A Nest for Celeste: Chapters 8–15

He looked wistfully at Celeste and rubbed her tummy.

But soon he became frustrated again. He jumped up from the table in exasperation.

Audubon entered with a flourish.

She blinked several times before realizing she was awake and the tantalizing scents were real, and close by.

Several white tapers lit a brilliant array of colorful plates and dishes. Bowls and platters were piled high with mountains of food—incredible amounts that Celeste had never imagined. Silverware and crystal goblets sparkled.

Several white tapers lit a brilliant array of colorful plates and dishes. Bowls and platters were piled high with mountains of food—incredible amounts that Celeste had never imagined. Silverware and crystal goblets sparkled.

And wafting over everything like a delicious fog was the yummy scent of...was that roast beef?

“Don’t ever show your face again, Little One!” he admonished. “At least, not at the dining table!”

Joseph had spent all day working on his botanical drawings; sheets of discarded paper, covered with attempted sketches, littered the floor.
He looked at Celeste. “Little One, I need inspiration!”

She watched as Joseph started to sketch her. He began with a soft, arching line: the contour of her back.

Celeste watched as her eyes in the drawing became darker and more alive, the inner curves and shadows of her ears more prominent.

Celeste could see that it was an exact likeness, with a warmth and spirit, and just enough details to show it was her, Celeste.

Celeste casually looked to the north and saw a massive cloud off in the distance.

This cloud undulated and twisted.

Their feathers were a beautiful mossy gray with iridescent highlights that shimmered violet, green, and copper.

And he’d seen hunting before, of course, but never as part of a wholesale slaughter like this.

Some sat and busily preened their feathers; others napped contentedly in the sun.

The air was filled with the din of quacks and honks and whistles.

Above, hundreds and hundreds more were cascading from the skies, angling their wings and tails and dropping, splashing onto the surface of the river with feet braced for a water landing.

The breeze off the river was fresh and exhilarating, the clamor and activity on the water exciting.

She smelled something new...something acrid and pungent and biting in her nostrils.

She smelled something new...something acrid and pungent and biting in her nostrils.

Her whiskers twitched with apprehension.

It was tough going; they were hindered by the tangle of branches and roots from the huge trees.

He loaded his gun and fired, bringing down a large black-and-white bird with a scarlet crest of feathers on its head.

The shot had only wounded it, damaging one wing; and the bird floundered around on the ground and in the cane.

It was Joseph’s job to walk through the cane, flushing out the birds.

Celeste was disoriented and trembled in shock.

It took a moment for Celeste to get her bearings and realize what had happened.

His hair was matted and crusting over with dried blood.

Joseph had left it some grubs to eat, but the bird ignored them.

The next morning Celeste saw it lying under the window listlessly. It seemed to have no fight left in it.

His eyes were somber. His voice quivered a bit, stumbling for words.

He turned and strode down the hallway, leaving Audubon to sketch the pinned and trussed ivory-billed woodpecker.

How would it spend the rest of its days? On an endless and futile search up and down the valley, looking to find another ivory-billed woodpecker?