Page 74 of Theo of Golden

No words were exchanged as Ellen focused on her task. More than once she rearranged the feathers to give what, in her mind, was better balance to the composition.

“Now, Mr. Theo, half of the holes are still empty. But if you start paying attention, you can find more feathers on the Promenade and in the Boughery, and you can put them here with the others. If you can’t figure out how to do it, I can do it for you.”

“What a beautiful invention, Ellen.” He meant it. “How did you make it?”

“It wasn’t easy, I promise you that, since I don’t have any tools. First, I find the piece of wood, about the right size, and then I have to sand it down. I rub it on the sidewalk till the ends are both smooth. And then I make the holes with an ice pick I borrow from the Mission. If I had a saw and a drill, I could do better.”

“You have done an excellent job as it is. It is lovely, my dear.”

Theo held it up for closer examination, studying the individual feathers. “This is an interesting one.”

Theo pointed to a six inch feather, deep blue with five short black bands on the narrow side of the shaft and an inch of white at the tip.

“That, Mr. Theo, is a rare blue jay feather. It’s a tail feather. I found it in the Boughery near Mr. Asher’s. I have never seen a blue jay in Golden. Not one. And I look for them. Somebody told me there used to be lots of them around here. Well, not now. But here’s what I know: if there’s a blue jay feather, there’s got to be a blue jay somewhere. That’s just simple logic. If P, then Q.

“You know what they say about blue jays? They say blue jays go to hell on Friday. Even Mr. Nobel Prize William Faulkner said it in one of his books. Maybe all the blue jays got trapped down there one Friday, except the one that lost this feather. Maybe the old devil grabbed at his tail when he was escaping and pulled this feather loose, and when the bird got to the Boughery, it finally fell out. That’s where I found it, down in the Boughery. Mr. Theo, that feather might belong to the last blue jay on Earth. You never know.”

Theo applauded Ellen’s colorful mind and fertile imagination. Such an enigma.

“It’s a beautiful feather, Ellen. What about this one? I’ve never seen one like this before. Do you know what kind of bird it comes from?”

The feather in question was emerald green, as if straight from swimming in a pool of crème de menthe.

Ellen’s eyes widened, and she chuckled guiltily. “Yes, it comes from a, from a, ummm… a hatbird. Don’t ask. I needed some color.”

A hatbird? Theo had never heard of that particular variety before. After a moment, however, his eyes also widened, and he grinned, with the realization that the hatbird probably lived on a hat rack in the hat section of the clothes pantry at the Mission.

The hatbirds of Golden were an endangered species as long as Ellen was in pursuit of exotic plumage.

Featherwood.

Theo made a mental note: Ellen is an artist.

They said their goodbyes and Theo made the short walk, gift in hand, back to Ponder House. He felt some tightness in his legs as he walked up the three flights of stairs, but he made the ascent with minimal groans.

The sun was mercilessly hot by then.

A meal, a book, and a nap seemed the perfect trifecta for the afternoon.

And so it was.

CHAPTER 41

It was another of those nights. A night of inexplicable sleeplessness.

It was well after midnight, late September, when summer and early autumn competed for dominance. Cool, calm, quiet.

Theo got out of bed, opened the door, and stood on the landing overlooking the river. It called to him. He stepped back inside, dressed, put on a light coat, and set out for a stroll.

He kept a firm grip on the handrail as he stepped down the back stairs. The streets were dark, empty, and silent. He could hear the shuffle of his steps echo around him as he made his way to the river. “Ghost town” was the phrase that came to Theo’s mind.

When he arrived at the Riverwalk, he stood at ease, hands clasped behind him. Faint light from both sides of the river shimmered on top of the Oxbow, as if a cache of diamonds was being floated to some distant destination.

The thought of water filled Theo’s mind. The incessance of its movement.

The hidden life beneath its surface.

The utter dependence of all living things on its presence.