Love on the Line - Deeanne Gist [65]
Chapter Twenty
Pulling a dressing sacque over her nightgown, Georgie shoved her feet into fleece-lined slippers, then dragged the wool blanket off her bed. A pair of cardinals had chosen her backyard as their breeding ground. Repeatedly the male had seen his reflection in her window, mistaken it for another male cardinal, and slammed into the glass over and over in an effort to protect his territory.
She’d finally covered the spot with newspaper, only for his mate to see herself in the opposite window and do the same thing. Still, Georgie had never had cardinals nest in her yard, and she wanted to get to know them before they did. It was an hour yet to sunrise and they’d awaken soon, so she’d best hurry.
Wrapping the green blanket around her, she pulled her braid free and tiptoed out the back door. The air smelled of dew and had a slight nip to it.
She settled onto a chair, tucking the blanket under her, and held as still as she could. Nothing but darkness greeted her. She allowed her mind to wander.
After her confrontation with Luke, she’d redoubled her efforts to save the birds. She presented Mistrot Bros., Ottfried’s local competitor, with literature documenting forty thousand sandpipers killed on the North Carolina coast for millinery purposes. The mercantile owner added the first and only male signature to the Plumage League’s pledge and announced he would solely stock hats that excluded bird parts.
Filled with a sense of victory, she immediately asked him to judge the Plumage League’s Maifest hat competition. He not only accepted her request, but also offered to place the top five hats up for sale in his shop.
His announcement doubled the number of hats entered, completely upstaging Ottfried’s showcase and contest. Easter came and went with the lion’s share of women sporting bonnets without a hint of birds upon them.
Cheo.
She caught her breath, her gaze swiveling toward the sound. The cardinal was somewhere on the east side of the yard, but it was too dark to determine its exact spot. Dawn was a good forty-five minutes away and none of the other birds had even awakened.
Cheo cheo.
So loud. But he was slow to get going. Like an old man creaking out of bed one joint at a time.
Cheo cheo.
A few more seconds passed, as if he was yawning and stretching before his next verse.
Wheet wheet wheet wheet wheet wheet wheet wheet.
She smiled at the familiar tune. He started his song over from the beginning, this time with a little more liveliness, until finally, he was singing the entire thing with total abandon. On and on he went, sometimes with a single cheo, sometimes with two. Sometimes fortissimo, sometimes pianissimo. Sometimes with pauses between, sometimes without stopping.
She closed her eyes, amazed at how a tiny thing could produce such a powerful sound. As far as she knew, only two species on God’s green earth could sing. Men and birds.
There was no comparison. The grandest virtuoso would be no match for her feathered friend.
His concert awoke a robin, prompting it to go through its repertoire. A bobwhite stirred, then introduced himself by name. A warbler fluttered to a tree nearby, with a sweet sweet sweet sweet sweet sweeter-sweeter.
The cardinal, not to be outdone, switched to a new song. Whoo-ett . . . whoo-ett whoo-ett . . . whoo-ett whoo-ett tuer tuer tuer tuer.
The sky lightened to gray; the moon began to fade. A plethora of robins joined the fray, along with blue jays, chickadees, whippoorwills, and thrashers. And then she heard it. A soft echo of the cardinal’s whoo-ett whoo-ett tuer.
Her male heard it, too. He held his song and was rewarded with another muted whoo-ett whoo-ett tuer.
Georgie searched the garden, squinting through the cusp-of-dawn light. The female had to be in the buttonbush across the yard.
Their conversation continued, her songs brief and ladylike, his manly and loud. Showing off, he introduced yet another new song.
Instead of echoing, she responded with the whoo-ett-tuer of before.
It took him aback. He sang