A Nest for Celeste Read Online Free Page B
Author: Henry Cole
Joseph’s pocket. Mr. Pirrie turned to see her racing to the edge of the table; and picking up a heavy serving ladle, he began swatting at Celeste, pounding the tablecloth and shattering a gravy boat. Celeste wasfast and miraculously maneuvered through an obstacle course of plates and silverware and repeated swats of the ladle, leaving behind tiny footprints of sweet potato and gravy. She leaped off the tablecloth to a chair, and then to the floor.
Right into the path of the cat.
Only inches away, the cat was too close to escape. Celeste closed her eyes tightly, preparing for the end. She had one second to think: I only hope this is quick; I hope cats don’t like to play with their food before they eat it. Suddenly she was enveloped in warmth and darkness. This isn’t so bad , she thought. The cat is merciful after all .
Then she heard a voice whispering: “It’s all right, Little One. Just stay still. But stay in my pocket this time!”
A second later she was deposited back into the familiar comfort of Joseph’s shirt pocket. In an instant Celeste felt a measure of security and safety, tuckednext to the familiar beating of Joseph’s heart.
Audubon gave Joseph a look. Joseph understood immediately and hurriedly excused himself from the table, taking the stairs two at a time as he raced to his room.
“Don’t ever show your face again, Little One!” he admonished. “At least, not at the dining table!” He put Celeste back in her small cage.
Her pulse was pounding. The world was an unpredictable place. Her little nook beneath the dining-room floorboards had been dark and musty, but it had been safe. She had never felt so strongly the need for a shelter, for a refuge, for home.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
A Portrait
T he next afternoon Joseph stood by the bedroom window, hands in his pockets, listening to the pulsing drone of the cicadas in the magnolias outside. Downstairs he could hear Auduboninstructing Eliza in the parlor; they were in the middle of a dance lesson.
“And one. And two. And one. And…no, Miss Eliza, the left foot, not the right foot. Please, concentrate! You want the young men for miles around to come and admire your talents on the dance floor, yes?” Notes from the pianoforte began again.
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!”
He pulled a cotton bandanna from his hip pocket, then folded and twisted it into a bowl-shaped nest for Celeste.
“Here you go,” he said, sharpening a pencil with his pocketknife. “You just sit there and take a nap.”
But Celeste couldn’t sleep. She watched as Joseph started to sketch her. He began with a soft, archingline: the contour of her back. Then a second line swept over the first, hinting at her tail.
“You’ve got such beautiful eyes, Little One,” Joseph remarked. He studied her face and sketched the outline of her eyes and ears. Details followed: the white whiskers and pink nose, the tiny toes tucked under, soft and cream colored. With the side of his pencil he shaded in the background pattern of the bandanna andthe tiny soft lines of her fur. He chose a softer, darker-leaded pencil and added still more details. Celeste watched as her eyes in the drawing became darker and more alive, the inner curves and shadows of her ears more prominent. Joseph took an eraser and touched certain places on the paper, creating highlights. The whole portrait took only minutes. Celeste could see that it was an exact likeness, with a warmth and spirit, and just enough details to show it was her, Celeste.
With a soft pencil Joseph signed his name along the edge of a shadow. “Hey!” He laughed. “You should sign your name, too, Little One. After all, you’re the subject matter. And I can’t think of a better subject!”
Using the blade of his knife, he shaved off some graphite dust from one of the
Right into the path of the cat.
Only inches away, the cat was too close to escape. Celeste closed her eyes tightly, preparing for the end. She had one second to think: I only hope this is quick; I hope cats don’t like to play with their food before they eat it. Suddenly she was enveloped in warmth and darkness. This isn’t so bad , she thought. The cat is merciful after all .
Then she heard a voice whispering: “It’s all right, Little One. Just stay still. But stay in my pocket this time!”
A second later she was deposited back into the familiar comfort of Joseph’s shirt pocket. In an instant Celeste felt a measure of security and safety, tuckednext to the familiar beating of Joseph’s heart.
Audubon gave Joseph a look. Joseph understood immediately and hurriedly excused himself from the table, taking the stairs two at a time as he raced to his room.
“Don’t ever show your face again, Little One!” he admonished. “At least, not at the dining table!” He put Celeste back in her small cage.
Her pulse was pounding. The world was an unpredictable place. Her little nook beneath the dining-room floorboards had been dark and musty, but it had been safe. She had never felt so strongly the need for a shelter, for a refuge, for home.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
A Portrait
T he next afternoon Joseph stood by the bedroom window, hands in his pockets, listening to the pulsing drone of the cicadas in the magnolias outside. Downstairs he could hear Auduboninstructing Eliza in the parlor; they were in the middle of a dance lesson.
“And one. And two. And one. And…no, Miss Eliza, the left foot, not the right foot. Please, concentrate! You want the young men for miles around to come and admire your talents on the dance floor, yes?” Notes from the pianoforte began again.
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!”
He pulled a cotton bandanna from his hip pocket, then folded and twisted it into a bowl-shaped nest for Celeste.
“Here you go,” he said, sharpening a pencil with his pocketknife. “You just sit there and take a nap.”
But Celeste couldn’t sleep. She watched as Joseph started to sketch her. He began with a soft, archingline: the contour of her back. Then a second line swept over the first, hinting at her tail.
“You’ve got such beautiful eyes, Little One,” Joseph remarked. He studied her face and sketched the outline of her eyes and ears. Details followed: the white whiskers and pink nose, the tiny toes tucked under, soft and cream colored. With the side of his pencil he shaded in the background pattern of the bandanna andthe tiny soft lines of her fur. He chose a softer, darker-leaded pencil and added still more details. Celeste watched as her eyes in the drawing became darker and more alive, the inner curves and shadows of her ears more prominent. Joseph took an eraser and touched certain places on the paper, creating highlights. The whole portrait took only minutes. Celeste could see that it was an exact likeness, with a warmth and spirit, and just enough details to show it was her, Celeste.
With a soft pencil Joseph signed his name along the edge of a shadow. “Hey!” He laughed. “You should sign your name, too, Little One. After all, you’re the subject matter. And I can’t think of a better subject!”
Using the blade of his knife, he shaved off some graphite dust from one of the