It was another slow day at the Harriet Simms Mansion and Museum gift shop. My family has lived near it and took care of it for two generations before me, and sometimes it felt like it was ours, too. But the town historical society actually owned it, we just put in the work to restore it, arrange it, and present it to folks of all types who were curious about seeing it.

I was behind the cash register. My brother and Jimmy Chaser were restocking the shelves. Tourist season wasn’t going to pick up for a month or two, but it was still worth opening up just in case, according to my folks.

Even when the tourist season is in full swing, the average visitor is not curious about checking out the house of a lady who was important almost 200 years ago, looking at her rooms; the library she insisted be created for her son, which is why he became such a champion of father birds’ rights; her hatchery, her shed feathers collected into a commemorative pen set; her collection of stringed instruments…I could go on and on but it isn’t my day for giving the tour, and you haven’t paid for any of the numerous informative speeches I’ve been able to recite since I was four years old. No weasel worth a penny would give away more than she has to use to keep a body interested, after all!

Jackson was older than me and was going to be up for giving most of the tours today, if any groups came. He was dressed a cut above Jimmy and I, with a pressed shirt and nicer pants. He was more interested in looking out the window than helping Jimmy.

The skunk kept picking at price tags, muttering to himself about changing a 3 to an 8, or other such cheap tricks. “But is that going to make it so much that nobody will buy it? Nah…but maybe I’ll just give it a try once?”

“Julie won’t ring it up for more than it’s worth,” Jackson said over his shoulder. “Stop all this low class conniving! I swear, you’re going to turn this place into one of those rip-off joints on the beach. Reputation is everything!” He plucked at his suspenders, making them snap against his chest. “A great first impression won’t carry you far if you can’t back it up.”

“Back yourself up.” Jimmy tossed a postcard at Jackson. “I need this place to make it just as bad as your family does!”

“Since you got fired from everywhere else, from what I heard.” I laughed and then gave him a serious look. “You better not stink up this job like everything else in this town that your family has gotten their rotten tails too close. You’re crooked, Jimmy.”

“Coming from weasels, that’s a compliment!” He winked at me. He thinks he’s so smart sometimes.

“Well look at that! I almost don’t believe my eyes.” Jackson pressed his face against the window. “It’s a tour bus. I’ll be dusted if there aren’t fifteen passengers in there. Even if they’re big hoof folk, there could be six or seven of them!” He straightened out his shirt and grabbed the small cash box for making change for tour tickets. “This will carry us for a bit!”

He went outside. I joined Jimmy at the window and tried to be casual about staring. A hawk hopped off, and then another. Then came someone who might have been some sort of falcon. They were all dressed fairly well.

This was not lost on Jimmy. “They didn’t fly here. That, and their clothes, means they’re loaded. And this tour is right up their alley, with the species connection. He whirled in place to face me and grabbed my shoulders. “Julie. I need you to help me with something important. Very important, and you can’t tell Jackson. He wouldn’t understand.”

I looked away from him, out the window. Jackson’s guess was close: there were seventeen bird folk milling around outside. Four chickens, three of some other sort of fowl, and the rest were hawks or falcons.

I broke off his hold on my shoulders, but Jimmy was right about the angle on the interest this party might have. Harriet Simms-Sinkle was a Harpy Eagle. Her face is as familiar to me as my own, or any of my family, because of all of the portraits of her in the house. I sometimes think of her familiarly as if we were all family. That sounds crazy, especially because she really did do some amazing, outstanding things, and was a special lady and I don’t think she’d be pleased to know I was putting myself into her clan. But then again, the way she was…maybe she’d spread her wings like in the portrait on the third floor and laugh and say “Come here, child” like she did to the immigrant penguins at the Dowly Incident.

Anyway, I compare most bird folks to her. I notice what they don’t have, and how they look different. It’s not like I get a lot of opportunities to mingle with them, either. The bird folk around here are mostly fowls and they hate us as much as they can stand it.

Jackson took their money and let them in the side door. The front door leads to the parlor, which is best as a last stop on a tour. The side door leads to some servant rooms and a nice view of the famous garden her great granddaughter planted here before she died and the great house was left abandoned. That, it was decided, was a better place to start the tour. I could hear Jackson’s muffled voice as he handed out pamphlets and a guide booklet that came complimentary with the visit.

Jimmy asked again. “Julie, will you help me out, here?” I didn’t answer as I fetched the dusting rag. Nothing really needed a lot of attention, but it doesn’t hurt to give things a once-over right before a big group comes through. I had about twenty five minutes before they finished up and made it to the shop; longer, if anyone wanted to add on the garden tour, or try to fit into the secret passage, or if they wanted to pause and read more about the assassination attempt.

The skunk followed me around. “You don’t have to do anything but ring up the merchandise,” he said as he finally stopped his pursuit and went to his locker in the stock room. “Just remember these are mine. I made them, and the majority of money goes into my pocket…and some into yours, if you play along like they’re for real.”

He came back with a box of a dozen or so eggs. At least, they looked like eggs; they were glistening with some sort of resin or wax coating, and might have been wood underneath, carefully painted. They looked familiar, almost like…”Those look like the lamp!”

In the last room of the tour, the parlor, there was a lamp made from carefully glued together pieces of an eggshell. It was pieces from Harriet’s grandson’s shell, saved from when he hatched. It was quite the conversation piece, seeing as how he, James Peckington, was even more famous that his grandmother Harriet. He went on to be a politician and diplomat, “riding in her updraft” as many bird folk commentaries put it.

“What’s the big idea,” I demanded to know. “You better not have messed with that lamp, Jimmy Chaser. You know what a big deal it is. And especially to mess with it today, with a group of birds here!” I pointed at a postcard with featured the lamp in its soft glowing beauty. “It’s famous!”

“That’s the big idea,” the skunk said as he carefully set the fake eggs on a shelf that we normally use for paperweights. “Have you seen how those feather-heads look at that thing? I tell you, I can read all kinds of folks. I watch their faces…their beaks, in this case…little tells in how they stand, how they breathe, everything.

“They see that egg and I tell you: they are taken with all kinds of thoughts. They want it. It’s big, have you ever really looked at it? Two kits would fit in it snuggled together. They see it and wonder to themselves ‘What would that be like to brood over and sit on?’ Some of the chickens, especially: they cluck a bit to themselves and say ‘That’s not so big! That’s not so special! I could manage that.’”

“You are certifiable. They think no such perverted things.” I shook my head. “They’re in awe of the history!”

He laughed. “Oh, Julie. I forget you’re a youngster sometimes. ‘They’re in awe of history!’ That’s a laugh. Well even if I’m wrong and you’re right, what would it hurt? If nobody buys one, I’ll admit that you’re right.”

“How much are you charging for them?”

“I’m not greedy. They’re $15 and you can keep $5 per egg if you keep quiet about it, and I'll keep $10. You know Jackson or your dad wouldn’t like it.”

The tour group was coming down the old servant stairs to see the basement study. It’d be a few minutes yet. “All right,” I said. “All right.”

“But don’t tell Jackson.”

“All right, I said!”

I could hear my brother’s voice, going through the usual wrap-up speech about the study, and how Harriet’s second husband had written so much advice, and orders, and requests to various government figures and officials, newspapers, and spies. “Now watch your step up the stairs, we’ll come into the famous Simms-Sinkle parlour!”

Tramping footfalls from the birds made it easy to track their progress as they filed into the large room with its lounging couches, carefully restored to be period authentic; a harp from the collection; a reconstruction of a globe that was a gift from the Mountain Fork Tribe; many books, paintings, and other gifts, and of course, the famous egg lamp. “Those are the actual pieces of the eggshell of James Peckington, Harriet’s beloved grandson and of course our first ambassador to the River Kingdom; the general at the decisive Windy Rock standoff, which you can learn more about down the road a bit at that historic site; and many other accomplishments unrivaled by most others in our history, save for perhaps a few other members of his famous family.

He raised his voice. “Please ma’am! Don’t touch it! I shouldn’t have to tell YOU how fragile those can be!” There were half-hearted chuckles and calls from the birds. Some old hen would always try to touch it.

I looked again at Jimmy’s fake eggs. “They don’t have price tags, do they?”

“No,” he said just as the door swung open.

“Refreshments as well as souvenirs are available at our lovely gift shop. Thank you so much for your patronage and interest in Harriet’s life, her home, and her family’s mark on the history of our country! Please sign the guest book if you get a chance, and enjoy your vacations!” He shut the door behind them, making a clean getaway. I completely understood why; giving those tours takes a lot out of you. And all too often you get stuck with some idiot asking what they think are clever questions, holding you hostage until the end and beyond unless you can break things off quickly.

The only exit was now past me at the cash register, and past Jimmy’s eggs.

“Oh my, look at these,” said one of the falcons. She fluffed herself up and clicked her beak shut, leaning in closer.

“Faithfully made replicas of the shell lamp in the parlor,” Jimmy volunteered. “Painstakingly patterned by hand and dipped in a preserving, non-toxic varnish.”

I watched their faces and thought about Jimmy’s claims. Maybe it was something about the breathing? Maybe it was how their eyes lingered on the eggs, the flickered to the parlor door, or to their partners, or to each other, or to the portraits of the family on postcards on the far wall? I imagined I could hear Jimmy’s mocking tone, saying “I could manage that too!” But would they really feel the need to prove it? It really had nothing to do with anything important.

“I’d like one,” said a rooster. I was a bit shocked as he picked one up and fondled it, searching for rough spots. He picked up another, looked at it sideways the way that fowl do, and clucked. “Maybe not two,” he muttered. Every gal, of every kind, recognizes that pervert vibe when it comes, and this guy was sending it loud and clear.

“That will be $20,” I said. Jimmy’s gaze flicked over to me, and his tail stiffened up a bit. Poor skunk..he did have a good idea, but as usual it took a weasel to run with it.

“Sold!” The rooster slapped down the cash on the counter.

“Why not,” said one of the hawks. Then another three more sold. Five went out the door, total. There were a few calendars, postcards, books, and other things purchased by the party, but that $100 was all ours.

When they were gone, I gave Jimmy $50: that was his $10 apiece. I kept the other half for myself, giving myself a raise for coming up with the right price. I swept the money into my shirt before Jackson came back. He knew a lot about the ins and outs of the house, but he didn’t need to know EVERYTHING about what went on here..