She almost stumbled to the nearby chair. But Mr. Love began to leave the room. “Where are you going?” she asked, almost in a panic.
“Oh, I’m just going to make us some tea. Just relax and I’ll bring it in here shortly, okay?”
Fledgling just closed her eyes and thought, “Why in the world didn’t I come here sooner? This is the most wonderful place I’ve been in my entire life.”
She opened her eyes and saw Cherish plodding towards her. He came and sat next to her knee, laying his head there. Again, she didn’t feel overwhelmed by his pushiness—just loved.
She was petting his head when her gaze fell to the large sofa across from her. It had small gold flowers on a powder-blue background…not a busy pattern, but softly inviting. As she looked towards the other end, a black-and-brown striped ball of fur caught her eyes and she saw a head emerge from underneath a paw. A cat! She hadn’t even seen it until that moment.
It looked at her, its sleepy, but curious green eyes totally unafraid of the presence of a stranger in its sunroom. Fledgling stared at the cat; her only exposure to them had been to the wild ones on the street. She never saw one that looked that…what was it? Huh, it was contentment—again! Only once when she saw a street cat sunning itself by the river after some fisherman had thrown his too-small-catch to it, did she see such a satisfied cat. But even that one didn’t look completely at ease because it never knew when another animal would attack it, or a passer-by's foot would kick it. This kitty softly meowed a funny welcome to Fledgling and got up, stretching. Cherish didn’t move his head except to peer at the cat. His interest in Fledgling was much stronger than that for the cat. “That’s strange,” she thought. Most dogs don’t ignore cats; but then, her exposure to them was very limited. It struck her as odd, though, how everything she’d encountered in this house so far was just, well, like there was a lot of peace there—a word she rarely used. She began to ponder the true meaning of it while she comfortably leaned back into the chair.
Just as her eyes were drawn back to the picture of the lovely young woman, Mr. Love returned, carrying a full tray. She actually smelled the brewing tea before she saw him. “What kind of tea is that?” she asked. “It smells so good, but I’ve never smelled anything like it before.”
The teapot’s steam wafted very close to her as he set the tray down next to her. A plate of some type of fruit-filled bread was placed by the teapot, along with two lilac-painted porcelain cups, a crystal pitcher of milk and bowl of sugar.
“Oh, this?” he responded. “It’s made from herbs in my garden out back. It’s very good for you and has kind of a relaxing effect when you sip it slowly,” he finished as he poured them both a cup and sat down in a chair close by, but opposite from her. His long legs were in front of him, knees much higher than hers. He looked at her and her heart melted. His eyes really were as warm and kind as everyone said. They seemed to take in everything about her all at once—kind of like a candid snapshot taken when someone’s not looking and they’re just being themselves.
“It’s like he’s looking into my heart,” she thought. “Oh, I hope he can’t see the real me because that’s not so good.”
Almost on cue, he said, “So tell me about yourself. In fact, I don’t think you’ve even told me your name yet!”
Suddenly feeling very shy and vulnerable, she looked down at the dog’s head, and said heavily, ”Um, well, my name is Fledgling.”
