A Nest for Celeste by Henry Cole Read Free Book Online Page B

was blown from the branch, out into the dark blast.
    A moment later she was plunging into a whirlpool of brown-red water, leaves, sticks, and other debris. She kicked furiously and came to the surface, squeaking helplessly. The fast current grabbed her; and she bobbed up and down, gasping for air, paddling with her front paws and kicking with her hind feet. A large piece of bark struck her; and she clutched at it, throwing her body over it, clinging desperately. Heavy rain slashed and slammed into her face; and she choked and coughed on water and mud.
    The road leading to the plantation had become a small but raging creek; and by the lightning flashes Celeste was terrified to see that she was being carried away from the lights of the house and out into the darkness.
    She was chilled to her core and starting to shake.
    The current got stronger. Water gushed in a torrent that carried off the little bark raft with Celeste, numb with cold, clinging to it.

    After riding through a series of rapids and strong currents, the raft bumped into a muddy bank and slowed, then drifted against a sandy shoal and stopped. The heavy rain had stopped and was followed by a cold drizzle. Celeste’s coat was soaked and caked with mud and sand. She shivered with uncontrollable spasms. All her strength was spent. As her mind turned to darkness, she sank into a deep sleep, her cold body wet and sagging over the curled piece of sycamore bark.

 
     
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Aftermath
    T he day dawned bright and clear. The sun was hot and brilliant, but the shade under the trees was cool. The storm during the night had washed away the dust of summertime, and now the sky was cobalt blue. Wet leaves were plastered against the trees and fences, houses and barns. Broken tree limbs littered lawns, and countless hollyhocks and sunflowers lay prostrate, blossoms stuck facedown in the mud.

    Roads were pitted with gravelly ruts that had been washed out by the raging torrents of the night before. Birds began singing again as a salute to those among them that had survived the storm.
    Celeste blinked. She saw the sky, heard a cardinal and a mockingbird singing morning songs. She moved to sit up, but her body ached; her fur was stiff withmud. In a cloudy blur of pain and weariness, she sank down again.
     
    The first of the stars began to appear, bright and sharp against the clean sky. A catbird sang an evening song. The swollen creek had dwindled to a gurgling trickle. Still Celeste didn’t wake from her dreamless sleep.

 
     
CHAPTER TWENTY
Lafayette
    I t was the dappled glow of the late-summer sun that finally revived Celeste, warming her body, soothing her aches.
    She sat up and blinked, trying to take in her strange surroundings. Tall sycamore trees towered overhead, their roots twistedand arched and sculpted by the riverbank. A jungle of purple, yellow, and white wildflowers, most of them beaten down by the rainstorm, was being visited by scores of brightly colored butterflies. Celeste had never seen anything so dazzling.
    But she paid little attention to the beauty of butterflies. She was starving. Every bit of her energy had been spent in surviving the storm. Glancing around, she found some soft grass blades and nibbled at those. She made her way along the sandy riverbank slowly; found jewelweed seeds, some wild cherries that had blown to the ground, and a small beetle; and quickly gobbled them down.
    She was totally disoriented—which way was the plantation? Intuitively she figured she should head upstream, along the bank; but how far?
    She was contemplating her next move when suddenly she was cast in shadow. An enormous bird swooped down at her, almost but not quite grabbingher with strong talons, and then landed with a flourish beside her. Celeste did a double flip in the air, landing on all fours, ready to race away. But the bird didn’t attack; in fact, it looked at her curiously and asked a question: “Are you out of your cotton-pickin’ mind? What