Love on the Line - Deeanne Gist [42]
Eugene rocked back and forth on his backside, eyeing Georgie with speculation.
“Deer, bison, pigeons, Carolina parakeets,” she continued. “All once numbered in the millions. And all have been hunted to near extinction.”
Luke wished he could see her face. Whatever shone on it had captivated her audience.
“Tomorrow, I want you to pay close attention every time you hear a bird,” she said. “Every time you see a hat or cloak or skirt with bird parts on it. For every bird part you see, some innocent mama or daddy bird had to die. Then, when you close your eyes tomorrow night, try to imagine a day without birdsong, without seeing a friendly winged creature out your back window, because that’s what it will be like when you are a grown-up if we don’t stop killing our birds.”
“What if it’s already dead?” A boy out of Luke’s line of vision asked the question.
“Then put it in a box and bring it to our next meeting and we will give it a burial.”
Eugene and his friend looked at each other. The thought of a bird funeral clearly captured their imagination.
“In the meanwhile, share your new knowledge about birds with your mothers and fathers.” She stood, dusting her hands together. “Next meeting, I will teach you a bird call. Listen.”
The piercing whistle he’d heard the first time he saw her rent the air. If she hadn’t won the boys over before, this wiped out all hesitation. Their faces lit with awe and excitement.
“That was a Northern Cardinal,” she said. “I learned it when I wasn’t much older than you. Would you like me to teach it to you?”
They jumped to their feet, shouting their yeses with enthusiasm.
“Then you’d best not miss our next meeting. But it’s getting late; we need to head back.”
Groans of disappointment followed. Luke smiled. Nothing like leaving on a high note—literally. He watched the battalion of feet head back the way they’d come, some running ahead, some lagging behind, several hovering about Georgie. He stayed hidden until the sound of their voices and footfalls had long since passed.
Finally, he slithered out from under the shrub, wincing as he pushed himself to his feet. No sense in continuing his search for Comer. The day was almost over.
Returning to Honey Dew, he praised her for her patience, then swung atop her. He contemplated all he’d learned from listening to Georgie, admitting to himself she was right. Killing birds for no other reason than to decorate hats was not worth the price of depleting the species.
The question he didn’t want to face, but could not ignore, was if killing birds for sport was worth the price.
Chapter Thirteen
Now that the ladies of the newly formed Plumage League had voted in their officers, Georgie decided her first duty as president would be to disrupt the milliner’s contest.
Her gaze wandered about Mrs. Zach’s parlor. They’d moved their meetings to the mayor’s home since the Zachs not only had more space, but Mrs. Zach and her daughter, Rachel, were both members. The sitting room stretched almost the entire length of the house, opening onto a grand veranda outside.
Georgie rubbed a hand along the cheerful blue-and-apricot sofa with dolphin arms, its rich upholstery echoed in the wallpaper and drapes. The pièce de résistance, however, was a colorful needlework rug with bouquets of various flowers. She couldn’t imagine the patience it must have taken to stitch such a large and intricate piece. Seemed sacrilegious to set her boots on it.
Crossing her ankles so only her left toe touched the carpet, she made a mental note of the ladies assembled in a half dozen chairs, two easy chairs and two divans. They were a cross-section from the crème of society to the very humble. From the elderly to the young. From the doers to the followers.
Resting her cup and saucer on her knee, Georgie cleared her throat. “I was wondering, have any of you read about Mr. Ottfried’s Easter bonnet contest?”
The idle chatter fizzled as the ladies turned their attention to her.
“Read about it?” Vicki Lee asked. Her husband, Joe, was the local lawyer and