Goosed! or a Fowl Christmas

by Linda Banche

  Perhaps he should check on him.

  Keeping to the shadows, he ran out of the concealing undergrowth to The Keeper’s side. The Human’s chest rose and fell. He was alive. After Sly snagged a few birds, he would wake him. He slunk back to his hideaway.

  In the distance an owl hooted. A predator, like him. Sly wished him luck in his search for mice. Sly ate mice, too, but he didn’t like them. Why anyone would enjoy eating the nasty little beasts was beyond him. He shrugged. Owls were owls.

  With every minute, the pallid excuse of a moon dipped lower and lower in the west. Only a little while longer.

  Tonight was a night for predators. Let the prey beware!

  ***

  Farther along the edge of the woods, Machiavelli hid.

  As Sylvester watched the aviary, Machiavelli watched Sylvester.

  Ever since his disturbing conversation with the fox, Machiavelli had kept an eye on the bird sanctuary. Not an easy task, what with the cold and the dark and the higher latch on his pen gate. After climbing the fence’s lower rails to reach the latch, he had journeyed here after sunset every day, cursing the entire way. Cursing himself for being in such poor condition, and also the dirt he had wallowed in to dim his bright feathers. After all the trouble he had taken, the last thing he needed was to make himself a target in the shadows.

  But all was necessary. Although His Mistress had forgiven him, His Lordship hadn’t. Since she had allied herself with His Lordship, Machiavelli must appease him, too. If he protected the aviary, His Lordship would forgive him.

  He hoped.

  Once more, he regarded The Keeper. Why any Human would venture out on such a frigid night was beyond him. He himself shivered, and cozy down cloaked him. But if he needed help, The Keeper was available.

  Even more puzzling, Sylvester had run up to The Keeper before returning to his hiding place. What was that blasted fox up to?

  The owl that had hooted off and on since Machiavelli took up his post, hooted again.

  Machiavelli grimaced. He hated owls. Owls ate geese.

  The lower edge of the moon’s crescent grazed the horizon. Soon, only starlight would provide illumination.

  As the last sliver of moon sank into the earth’s clasp, branches rustled. Sylvester crept on his belly into the open lawn around the aviary. Then he ran, a silent shadow, to the hawthorn at the aviary fence.

  Machiavelli pushed erect, eyes narrowed on the fox’s bushy tail in front of the shrubs.

  Sylvester disappeared. One of the bushes obscuring the fence flicked, but there was no wind.

  Machiavelli waddled across the clearing as fast as he could, praying his sooty feathers would conceal him. At the hedge, he released a breath. Sylvester hadn’t seen him. But why had he come here?

  At his feet, a small, frozen stream flowed under the brush. He pushed the thicket aside with his bill. A hole! Sylvester was probably already in the aviary. He had to get in there and stop him. He slid head first into the hole.

  And stuck.

  Berating himself for eating all that chicken feed, and promising the Great Goose that he would go on a diet and become as muscular as Julian, Machiavelli braced a web on each side of the opening, gave a mighty shove—and popped into the aviary.

  With a soft thud, he landed on his side on the gravel walkway. Bless his padding. Usually a trial, his bulk had muffled his fall.

  Ahead was movement—furry, stealthy movement. Sylvester stood on his hind legs, his front paws braced on the top rail of the wood ducks’ pen.

  Not the wood ducks! They were kind birds and His Mistress liked them. They were also no match for Sylvester.

  Machiavelli leaped down the path. “HONK!”

  ***

  Will jerked awake. A violent shiver wracked him and he wrapped his arms around himself. Where was he?

  Cackles, grunts, squeaks, squawks, quacks and honks battered the night air.

  The birds! Something was amiss with the birds!

  He shoved to his feet and fell over, his legs too stiff to support him. Righting himself, he sat and chafed his frigid hands. Had he fallen asleep outside? In December? He was lucky he hadn’t frozen to death. He shook his legs to restore the circulation, gritting his teeth at the pins and needles sensation of resuming blood flow.

  The cacophony of bird calls ringing in his ears, he maneuvered his feet beneath him, braced his back against the tree and then inched upward until he stood. Breathing hard, he leaned against the trunk until he steadied, and then lurched toward the tumult in the aviary.

  He had locked the gate. What was in there?

  His legs stiff boards, he staggered to the gate, grabbing a branch in his path along the way. The lock still held. Whatever invaded the aviary hadn’t entered this way. He unlocked the gate with fingers slow to respond, and then ran down the path, his legs protesting every step.

  Before him, a flash of mottled white lunged at a dark creature.

  Will stumbled closer. The dark creature was a fox. The lighter one, a goose.

  Machiavelli!

  Will swung his branch high.

  Snarling, the fox bolted past him to spin around at the open gate. He hissed.

  The goose honked as if in reply.

  The fox disappeared out the gate.

  Shouts drifted from the direction of the house and lights bobbed along the lawn. Some of the inhabitants had returned from their holiday.

  Will dropped the branch and ran back to the entrance. He motioned in his underkeepers, but barred entry to the others. He gathered several lanterns from members of the milling crowd and then shut and locked the gate. “Everyone else, stay out.” He distributed the lanterns to his men. “A fox got in. He is gone now, but check the birds.”

  The underkeepers scattered.

  His legs still a wobbly ache, Will checked every bird in the aviary. He completed the circuit of the path, and then double-checked with the underkeepers. All the birds were safe and accounted for. He leaned against a fence post to ease his throbbing legs.

  “Borland, here!” Jem’s shout rose above the hubbub of the crowd.

  Will and the other underkeepers converged toward Jem’s voice.

  Jem rose from kneeling by the fence. “Take a look.” He pushed aside some privet to reveal a hole.

  Will squatted by the opening. “I check the outside of the fence every night and I missed that.”

  Jem dusted off his palms. “Easy to miss at night with the hawthorn in the way. I stuck my hand through. The hole is bigger on this side than the other.”

  “Then we will check inside and out, both day and night.” Will stood. “Fill that with rocks for the time being.” He motioned to two of the underkeepers to help Jem.

  Will returned to the path and Machiavelli. The goose sat in front of the wood ducks’ pen where he had fought the fox. Will bent and picked him up.

  Machiavelli tensed, but let Will handle him.

  “Although you cannot understand me, I thank you, Machiavelli. If you had not made that racket, I probably would have frozen to death. The fox would have hurt the birds, too.”

  Machiavelli rubbed his head on Will’s coat and wiggled, transferring a great deal of his dirt to Will’s greatcoat.

  “You will make me filthy, Machiavelli. Fine way to say ‘You are welcome’.” With the goose still in his arms, he walked slowly back to the entrance. The throng had quieted, and Tyndall and Julia waited at the gate.

  Will undid the lock and bid them enter.

  Julia’s hair hung loose, and she held a long cloak closed around her.

  Tyndall, his shirt out of his breeches, and without cravat or coat, pushed his messy hair out of his eyes. “What happened?”

  Will stiffened. He would not think about what the ruckus had interrupted.

  “A fox got in.” Will tipped his head toward where the underkeepers worked. He told them about the hole, and the increased checks he would make to safeguard the birds.

  Julia petted Machiavelli on the head. �
��How did Machiavelli get in here?”

  “I suppose he used the hole under the fence. The wood ducks probably got out that way, too.” He settled the goose on the ground. “In any event, Machiavelli is our hero. His honking alerted me to the fox. I never would have known without him.”

  “You wonderful goose.” Julia petted Machiavelli again. “I am happy you are all right. And for what you did, I will have a reward for you when we get home.”

  Machiavelli honked and snuggled against her side.

  Will scooped up the bird again “But, for tonight, I will put you in with Julian.” He deposited him in the Canada goose pen.

  With the excitement over, the cold reasserted itself and the crowd thinned fast, everyone hurrying back to their warm beds.

  All except for Will, Julia and Tyndall. Will checked that the hole was filled with rocks, and then locked the aviary gate behind them. He held his lantern high to light their way back to the house.

  Tyndall and Julia held hands.

  Will looked away, his already broken heart shattering into even tinier pieces. Just a little longer in their company, and then I can escape.

  “You did a splendid job.” Tyndall clapped Will on the back. “Come to the library tomorrow, and we will discuss the matter further.”

  “We are most fortunate you responded to the emergency so fast.” Julia’s forehead puckered. “Why, you are dressed for outside. Were you already here?”

  Will coughed. “I could not sleep. I came out for a walk and heard Machiavelli.”

  Julia stopped so suddenly that she jerked Tyndall to a halt. “A walk? At this time of night, in this weather?” She set her free hand on Will’s arm. “Are you all right?”

  Will’s control broke. He turned aside and jammed his eyes shut. No, I am not all right, and I will not be for a long, long time, but I will never let you know.

  “Will?” Julia’s grip on his arm tightened.

  He inhaled deeply, and forced a smile to his lips. “Yes, I am well.” He patted her hand, and then gently slid from her grasp. “You had better go in.” He looked over her shoulder at Tyndall, and tilted his head toward the house. Please leave, both of you.

  Tyndall, his eyes narrowed, nodded. “Come, Julia, you must be freezing.” He drew her away. “Good night, Borland. And thank you again.”

  “Good night.” Will remained in place until the house door swung shut behind the pair.

  Then he walked around the aviary once, twice, and again and again, until the cold finally drove him to his bed.

  His lonely bed.

  ***

  Machiavelli heaved a goosey sigh. He would not become dinner. He would even receive a reward. The wheels in his head took another sly turn. Now what could the reward be?

  Julian tapped a web. “So you’re a hero? I must say, you know how to turn things to your advantage.”

  Machiavelli puffed out his chest. “Of course. I am Machiavelli!”

  Julian shook his head and settled down beside his mate. “Yes, yes, but confine your bragging to someone else’s pen. We’re for sleep.”

  “And I forgive you for biting me.”

  “You forgive me?” Julian honked. “I’m not sorry I bit you. And I’ll bite you again if you deserve it, so watch out.”

  In his current expansive mood, Machiavelli couldn’t be angry at the crotchety Julian. He strutted to the boundary privet. “Woodie and Julia?”

  Woodie’s head popped out of the tree hole. “Someone call?”

  “Yes, me.”

  “Machiavelli.” Woodie’s voice was hard. “What do you want?”

  Machiavelli cleared his throat. “I apologize.” His voice cracked. He had never apologized before.

  Julian gasped. “Machiavelli apologizing? I must spread the word. There will be wonder all around tonight.”

  Machiavelli looked over his shoulder. “I thought you were asleep.”

  Julian chuckled. “Not when something of note occurs.” He slipped his head back under his wing.

  “As I was saying…” Machiavelli cleared his throat again. “I apologize for luring you to Shaw Farm to become dinner. I was terrified I would become the meal, but deceiving you was not well done of me.”

  “Very true.” Woodie’s voice was still hard.

  Machiavelli squirmed.

  Woodie fluttered to the ground. “Should we forgive him, Julia?”

  Julia flew down after her mate. “Well…” Then she nodded her head. “The season is a time of forgiveness for the Humans. Perhaps we should learn something from them. Yes, we forgive you.” Her grin glimmered. “But we wanted you to squirm a bit.”

  “Tit for tat.” Woodie nodded.

  “I thank you for your generosity.” Machiavelli bowed.

  Sylvester’s bark drifted over the boundary fence. “Curse you, Mac! You’ve won this round. But there will be another time.”

  Machiavelli flapped his wings so hard he rose a few inches above the ground. “And I’ll win that one, too, Sylvester!”

  Chapter 23

  “I would like a few days off to visit my family.” Will sat in the library before Tyndall’s desk.

  Brilliant sunlight streamed through the window and sparkled off the polished desk top, lending a mellow glow to the dark-paneled room.

  But Will sank down and down into the deepest, blackest pit of Hell.

  Tyndall, sitting behind the desk, had thanked Will in effusive terms for saving the birds.

  The words had drifted to Will’s ears as if from a distance. He had done his job, and in the process, had lost the woman he loved. Was the job really worth that much?

  The image of Tyndall and Julia, locked together in this room, flashed over and over through his mind. Even sleep hadn’t erased the picture. Would he never forget?

  He clenched his hands. He had to leave for a while or he would go insane. Christmas was a good excuse to ask for time off.

  Tyndall nodded. “Of course, you may go. Why not take more than a few days? Finish up your book and return around February first. You will receive full salary for the entire period.”

  “You are very generous, sir.” Will stood. He had to get out of here. “If there is nothing else…”

  “One moment.” Tyndall coughed into his fist. “On the night I was drunk, I insulted you. Not once, but several times. I most sincerely apologize.”

  “Accepted.”

  “I insulted Julia, too, which I also regret. But you defended her. I thank you.”

  Will nodded. He turned for the door.

  “Wait, I almost forgot.” Tyndall leaned over the desk and handed Will a paper.

  “Thank you.” Will automatically spoke before the paper’s contents registered. A bank draft for five hundred pounds.

  His jaw sagged. Five hundred pounds was a fortune. What was the money for? And why am I not grateful? “I am astounded. I cannot believe chasing a fox out of the aviary is worth such a large sum.”

  “I disagree. The birds are extremely important to me, and I want them safe.” Tyndall rubbed the back of his neck. “And there is more than the aviary.” He rose and gazed out the window for a long moment before turning back. The sun gilded his form, just like the rest of the room. “I am grateful to you for helping Julia and me.”

  Will’s head snapped back as if he’d been slapped. His fingers opened and the bank draft fluttered to the floor. “Are you paying me for giving up Julia?”

  Tyndall raised a restraining hand. “No, I am not. Please, do not be angry.” He returned to his chair, set his elbows on the desk, and folded his hands. “I will probably say this poorly, but please hear me out. You could have taken Julia for yourself when she was angry with me, but you did not.” He exhaled slowly. “You helped me because you want her to be happy. And I promise, I will make her happy. I wish to express my thanks to you in some tangible way.”

  He drummed his fingertips together. “This is a devil of a bind. I am grateful she chose me, but at the same time, I am sorry she had to r
eject you to do so.” He blew out a breath. “You are one of the best men I have ever met, William Borland, and I want to continue to call you friend.”

  Will looked down, unseeing. He had expected this interview to be difficult, but not this bad. Fool that he was for letting another man win the woman he loved, but even worse was having that same man make him into a damned saint. On the stage, such a situation would be ludicrous, but the reality was a complete disaster.

  He wanted to scream or hit something or run away. Preferably all three, starting with punching Tyndall. He balled his fists tighter, the tension in his body making him shake. He had to get out of here now. If he didn’t, he really would plant Tyndall a facer.

  He bowed. “Whatever you wish.” He opened the door, not looking back. “I will leave today, if you find that agreeable.”

  “Of course. Take a carriage or any horse you want. And Godspeed to you.”

  Will walked out. He shut the door softly behind him, when he itched to slam the panel so hard the entire house shook.

  ***

  “Will?”

  Will closed his eyes at the sound of the soft voice behind him.

  Julia. The last person on earth he wanted to see after that debacle of a meeting. “Yes?” He forced his face into repose before turning toward her.

  She wrung her hands. “I want to talk to you.”

  “Of course.” If any more people wanted to talk to him, he would go barking mad. He motioned her to the nearest room, the drawing room, and then followed her inside.

  She sank into a chair, lacing her fingers in her lap. A beam of sunlight caressed her. Her deep blue dress softly draped her figure. The sun’s rays gilded her lustrous hair. Her skin glowed.

  She was lovely, exquisite, splendid.

  And she wasn’t his.

  He remained by the open door. The kissing ball hung from the chandelier almost directly above her, its white berries and glossy green leaves with their promise of kisses mocking him. He had only that one kiss to remember her by.

  A hint of her rose perfume reached his nose. Yesterday, he had loved roses. Now, he hated every rose in existence.

  “First, I must thank you for talking to me when I was so overset.”