Лилиан Браун - The Cat Who Knew A Cardinal

As he stepped forward she tucked one cane under the other arm in order to extend a hand. "My pleasure, Mrs. Inglehart," he murmured, bowing gallantly over her trembling hand. It was a courtly gesture he reserved for women of a certain age.

"I'm thrilled to meet you at last," she said. "I used to read your column when you were writing for newspapers Down Below. But now you are living among us! How fortunate we are! I not only admire your writing talent Mr. Qwilleran, and what you have to say, but..." she added with a coy smile, "I adore your moustache!"

Fleetingly he wondered if the Inglehart library might contain a copy of City of Brotherly Crime.

"Shall we go into dinner, Grummy?" asked Bushy, offering his arm. The others followed them into the dining room and waited until the elderly woman was seated on her granddaughter's left. Qwilleran was motioned to sit opposite, next to Moira, and the party waited for Grummy to raise her soup spoon.

Glancing brightly around the table she said, "For what we are about to receive, we give thanks."

Redbeard, sitting at the other end of the table, next to the host, sneezed loudly.

Fiona said apologetically, "He's allergic."

"To everything," said the man who was blowing his nose. "Including horses."

"Is that true?" Kip asked.

"Absolutely."

"You should give up horses and go in for newspapering. You're doing a good job with Stablechat."

"Nothing to it," said Steve. "I've got a bunch of kids digging up the stuff, and Mrs. Amberton puts it together."

"What's your circulation now?"

"Almost a thousand."

"Another ten thousand," said the editor of the Logger, "and we'll start to worry."

Grummy leaned toward Qwilleran. "Victoria tells me you've brought your cats. I do hope they don't kill birds."

"Have no fear," he replied. "They're indoor cats, and their interest in birds is purely academic. Koko has a friend who's a cardinal, and they stare at each other through the window glass and communicate telepathically."

Steve said, "Take the glass away and it'd be a different story. Cats are cats."

Vicki said quickly, "Grummy has a feeding station outside her window in the tower, and she records the migration of different species in a notebook... Don't forget your soup, Grummy dear." With her spoon poised above the soup plate Mrs. Inglehart was gazing at Qwilleran like a starstruck young girl.

Moira said, "One year I decided to feed the birds, but all I attracted were starlings. They came from three counties to my backyard - millions of noisy, messy invaders. That was the end of birding for me!"

"My problem," Qwilleran said, "is blackbirds. When I bike on country roads, they rise up out of the ditch in a great cloud and dive-bomb me and my bike, screaming chuck chuck chuck."

"That's in nesting season," said Grummy. "They're protecting their young."

"Whatever their motive, they're very unfriendly, and when I talk back to them, they're really burned up."

"What do you say to an unfriendly blackbird?" Moira asked.

"Chuck chuck chuck. But the biggest mystery is the behavior of seagulls when a farmer plows a field. Within five minutes after he starts, a hundred seagulls flock in from the lake, thirty miles away, and circle the field like vultures."

Kip said, "Seagulls have an intelligence network that puts the CIA to shame."

Vicki removed the soup plates, and Fiona helped serve the main course: pasta shells (easy for Grummy to fork with her trembling hand) with a sauce of finely chopped vegetables in meat juices, plus meatballs for the guests.

As the Parmesan cheese was being passed, Grummy returned to her favorite subject. "When I came to live in this house as a bride, I instructed the gardener to plant everything that would attract birds, and I've kept a birdbook for seventy years. Teddy Roosevelt had a birdbook, and he recorded the birds he saw on the White House lawn."

Occasionally there would be a sneeze from Redbeard; Bushy would ask if anyone wanted more wine; Fiona would cast surreptitious stares in Qwilleran's direction; Kip would mention the forthcoming millage vote. But always Grummy would bring the conversation back to birds.

The editor said, "One of the fillers that we ran recently stated that a hummingbird has a pulse rate of 615 beats a minute. I hope it wasn't a typo."

"Not at all," said the old lady. "The hummingbird is one of nature's small miracles."

Qwilleran confessed, "I can't tell one bird from another. They don't stand still long enough for me to look in the field guide."

"When I had my bird garden," Grummy said, "I could entice wild birds to eat out of my hand, and once I raised a family of baby robins after their mother was killed by a boy with a gun."

Steve sneezed again. "Grummy dear," said Vicki quietly and gently, "don't forget to eat your pasta."

Mrs. Inglehart was having a wonderful time, but when the salad was served she seemed tired and asked to be excused. Bushy escorted her to the eievator.

After the apple pie and coffee, Steve said he had to get back to the farm and be up at five in the morning, and Fiona said she had to go home and make sure Robbie went to bed early on the eve of his first race. As she left she said to Qwilleran in her small voice, "I... uh...wanted to talk to you... about Mr. VanBrook, you know, but didn't... uh. I.. get a chance."

"Did you know him well?"

She nodded. "Maybe... tomorrow? Vicki invited me to the 'chase."

"We'll have a talk then," Qwilleran promised. "It's been a pleasure meeting you."

She left, giving him a backward glance. He was watching her go. Despite her self-effacing manner, there was something fascinating about the woman - her large and sorrowful eyes, perfect eyes for Queen Katharine.

Then the MacDiarmids said good night because they had hired a baby-sitter who wanted to be home by ten o'clock. "See you at the 'chase," they said, explaining to Qwilleran, "Our parking slot is next to Bushy's, so we do a little friendly betting."

The host and hostess kicked off their shoes and poured another drink. Qwilleran accepted his third cup of coffee. "Pleasant evening," he said. "Grummy is a treasure, and I liked Kip and Moira. Fiona came as a surprise; she was so different on stage. This fellow Steve... what's their relationship?"

The Bushlands exchanged glances, and Vicki spoke first. "Well, he's Robin's mentor in horsemanship, and Fiona's very ambitious for her son to succeed at something. He dropped out of high school, and his only interest is horses."

"He's not alone, I understand. What's our schedule tomorrow morning?"

"After breakfast," Vicki said, "you'll have time to take the cats up to visit Grummy. She'll be thrilled."

Her husband said, "We'll leave about eleven and pick up Fiona, and that will give us time to fight the traffic and get in place for a tailgate picnic before post time, which is two o'clock."

"Kip mentioned betting. How does that work?"

"It's more fun if you have a few bucks on a horse, so we usually have a five- dollar pool going with the MacDiarmid crowd."

"Breakfast at eight-thirty," Vicki said. "What do you like?"

"Coffee and whatever. And now I think I'll amble upstairs and see if the cats have adjusted."

"Would they like a meatball? We have some left over."

Qwilleran followed her into the kitchen. "How long have you known Fiona?" he asked.

"Ever since junior high. My family used to include her in our picnics and vacation trips because she had no decent homelife of her own. It was the old story: absent father, alcoholic mother. I liked her. She was so eager and appreciative, and she had those heart- breaking eyes!"

"That's what I remember most about her portrayal of Katharine. What kind of life has she had since school-days?"