A Friend.

Her heart beat furiously, like a million raindrops. .h.i.tting a tin roof. The small cage had no places to hide in it, and Celeste felt exposed and vulnerable. Her body trembled, sickened with fear, as she watched Joseph putting on the other boot.

Why doesn't he eat me? she squeaked nervously. she squeaked nervously.

But then Joseph sat down at his drawing desk. A large piece of paper lay stretched across the table right next to Celeste. She could see on it a penciled outline, the figure of a bird. Joseph began sketching what looked to be leaves or flowers in the background. He would sketch, then rub out his lines, then sketch again and again, only to rub out his lines each time.

He seemed frustrated, but spoke softly to Celeste as he worked.

"You're good company, you know that, Little One? I've been away from home so long I've just about forgotten what home is, but I know I miss it. Having you around is real nice."

He rubbed his eyes. "You know how long I've been gone from home? Nearly two years."

Celeste watched Joseph, who had stopped sketching. He was staring out the window, looking thoughtful. He seemed to have forgotten about her. Celeste searched again for an opening in the cage.

"Mr. Audubon asked me along on his trip as an a.s.sistant.... I had just turned thirteen," Joseph said. "I wasn't too keen on going. I remember when we started out on the river: The day was cool and bright, smell of pine and tar in the air; the little flatboat was new; and the men were busy on board, loading gear and supplies, packing everything. I felt I was in everyone's way, pretty useless. I had only brought along a few things: a shirt, some drawing supplies, a scarf. I stowed them in a nook belowdecks behind a barrel of hardtack."

Joseph reached between the twigs of the little cage and scratched Celeste under her chin. She froze, terrified. But Joseph's voice was soothing and eventoned.

He looked wistfully at Celeste and rubbed her tummy. Celeste closed her eyes and held her breath. I'm really not much more than a mouthful! I'm really not much more than a mouthful! she squeaked in panic, waiting for death. But Joseph seemed to ignore her squeaks and continued to talk. she squeaked in panic, waiting for death. But Joseph seemed to ignore her squeaks and continued to talk.

"There was Ma, standing on the dock, wearing a black dress. She smiled at me, but I could see she'd been crying. She handed me a sack. 'Some biscuits and some ham,' she said. Someone yelled out, 'On board, lad!' and I jumped on."

Joseph again stared out the window, lost in a daydream.

"Our little boat pushed off, and I heard Ma say, 'Lord, be with him.' She got smaller and smaller, and that made me fill up with panic, like every nerve in my chest was being twisted. My throat got all pinched and tight, like I had swallowed a walnut whole. And I could feel the tears coming on, hot and fierce. Just about then Mr. Audubon put his hand on my shoulder. 'Prepare for high adventure, son!' he said."

Joseph turned from the window and looked at Celeste. "It's been adventure, that's for sure, Little One." He reached into the cage and gently took her out, cradling her in his hands, stroking her cheek. Celeste tried kicking and scrambling from his hands, but Joseph cupped her firmly. He found a peanut in his trousers pocket and gave it to her. She sniffed at it, perplexed, keeping her eyes on Joseph.

Then, cautiously, she began to nibble. It was delicious. Celeste felt confused. It had been a long time since anyone had been kind to her. She had left her family's nest many months ago, and Illianna and Trixie had only given her blows to the ears and bites on the back.

Joseph continued. "The boat got into the current, and we started to make time. The dock and my ma disappeared around a bend in the river. A flock of geese flew over-there must have been hundreds of them-and the breeze picked up off the water. One of the men got out his fiddle and started playing a tune; and I started feeling better, not so homesick."

"It took us a while, but we finally made it down-river to New Orleans, and now here we are at Oakley Plantation. I tell you, Little One, seems like I've been working hard ever since, helping Mr. Audubon look for birds, then trying to paint backgrounds good enough. Sure would like to get home...but Ma says I can learn a lot from Mr. Audubon, that I can learn a trade. Folks pay good money for beautiful paintings, you know. You're good company, Little One!" He kissed Celeste lightly on the top of her head and then slipped her into his shirt pocket. She wiggled at first but soon sat quietly, waiting. The peanut in her tummy had calmed her a bit.

Joseph went back to his work at his desk; she heard the sound of his pencil and eraser. But soon he became frustrated again. He jumped up from the table in exasperation.

"Mr. Audubon wants it perfect, and I can't do it!" he moaned. He peeked into his pocket. "Little mouse, what am I to do?"

CHAPTER TEN.

Feet in the Gravy.

Celeste was getting accustomed to spending time nestled in the bottom of Joseph's shirt pocket. He kept her well supplied with peanuts and other goodies. Sometimes she liked to curl into a ball and sleep, lulled by the scratching of Joseph's pencils and his humming of tunes. But after several days she found she was happiest when Joseph was working. She would poke her head out from his shirt pocket or perch on his shoulder and watch him sit for hours, staring at one of his jars of plants, and then try to make the plant come alive on paper.

"No! Not right!" he would mutter.

"Awful! The veins in this leaf are all wrong!"

"See how flat this looks? Terrible!"

Often Mr. Audubon would loom over Joseph as he worked.

"Composition, Joseph! Remember to balance the picture on the page!"

"Watch the watercolors, Joseph. Your greens are looking muddy."

"Why add this leaf? It does nothing for the picture."

Although Celeste could see how frustrated Joseph was, it was fascinating for her to watch him sketch, as he worked and reworked, over and over. To Celeste the drawings of the plants were beautiful, but Joseph never seemed satisfied. He would work late into the afternoon.

The dinner bell sounded from downstairs.

The table was set; food was being brought out from the summer kitchen.

Joseph sat at his usual place. "Good evening, Mr. Pirrie, Mrs. Pirrie," he said.

Mr. Pirrie was carving a roast. "Evenin', son. Got an appet.i.te?"

"Yes, sir!"

Audubon entered with a flourish. His long hair was tied back with a ribbon, and he wore his best white linen shirt.

"Good evening, all," he said.

In Joseph's shirt pocket, Celeste's nose twitched. She was dreaming, but even in her dreams did things smell this good? She blinked several times before realizing she was awake and the tantalizing scents were real, and close by. She poked her head out from Joseph's pocket.

This was a view of the dining-room table she had never seen. Several white tapers lit a brilliant array of colorful plates and dishes. Bowls and platters were piled high with mountains of food-incredible amounts that Celeste had never imagined. Silverware and crystal goblets sparkled. And wafting over everything like a delicious fog was the yummy scent of...was that roast beef? Succotash? Candied sweet potatoes? Hot rolls? Her eyes nearly bulged from their sockets.

"Yellow-jack fever is bad downcountry this summer," Mr. Pirrie said. "I heard the folks over at Parlange were hit mighty hard."

"At Parlange and also at other plantations," replied Audubon. "And of course New Orleans is in a bad state, so I understand,"

"Papa, will the yellow jack come up the river this far?" asked Eliza.

"Well, we're usually pretty safe here, Liza," her father replied. "President Monroe will send some militia to help quarantine the city."

Across the table, Mrs. Pirrie was helping herself from a dish of succotash.

"For pity's sake, let's not ruin dinner with talk about yellow jack," she said, pa.s.sing the dish to Eliza. She happened to glance over at Joseph and stopped in midair. Her eyes got bigger, and one corner of her mouth dropped.

"Wh...wh...what's that?" she gasped. "Oh, no, no! A mouse mouse!"

Celeste darted back down into the pocket, but the damage had been done.

The dish of succotash fell to the floor as Mrs. Pirrie leaped from the table and ran into the parlor, followed by wide-eyed Eliza.

"Mouse?" hollered Mr. Pirrie. "Where? There are no mice in this house."

In a panic, Celeste leaped from Joseph's pocket. Mr. Pirrie turned to see her racing to the edge of the table; and picking up a heavy serving ladle, he began swatting at Celeste, pounding the tablecloth and shattering a gravy boat. Celeste was fast and miraculously maneuvered through an obstacle course of plates and silverware and repeated swats of the ladle, leaving behind tiny footprints of sweet potato and gravy. She leaped off the tablecloth to a chair, and then to the floor.

Right into the path of the cat.

Only inches away, the cat was too close to escape. Celeste closed her eyes tightly, preparing for the end. She had one second to think: I only hope this is quick; I hope cats don't like to play with their food before they eat it. I only hope this is quick; I hope cats don't like to play with their food before they eat it. Suddenly she was enveloped in warmth and darkness. Suddenly she was enveloped in warmth and darkness. This isn't so bad This isn't so bad, she thought. The cat is merciful after all The cat is merciful after all.

Then she heard a voice whispering: "It's all right, Little One. Just stay still. But stay in my pocket this time!"

A second later she was deposited back into the familiar comfort of Joseph's shirt pocket. In an instant Celeste felt a measure of security and safety, tucked next to the familiar beating of Joseph's heart.

Audubon gave Joseph a look. Joseph understood immediately and hurriedly excused himself from the table, taking the stairs two at a time as he raced to his room.

"Don't ever show your face again, Little One!" he admonished. "At least, not at the dining table!" He put Celeste back in her small cage.

Her pulse was pounding. The world was an unpredictable place. Her little nook beneath the dining-room floorboards had been dark and musty, but it had been safe. She had never felt so strongly the need for a shelter, for a refuge, for home.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

A Portrait.

The next afternoon Joseph stood by the bedroom window, hands in his pockets, listening to the pulsing drone of the cicadas in the magnolias outside. Downstairs he could hear Audubon instructing Eliza in the parlor; they were in the middle of a dance lesson.

"And one. And two. And one. And...no, Miss Eliza, the left foot, not the right foot. Please, concentrate! You want the young men for miles around to come and admire your talents on the dance floor, yes?" Notes from the pianoforte began again.

Joseph had spent all day working on his botanical drawings; sheets of discarded paper, covered with attempted sketches, littered the floor.

He looked at Celeste. "Little One, I need inspiration!"

He pulled a cotton bandanna from his hip pocket, then folded and twisted it into a bowl-shaped nest for Celeste.

"Here you go," he said, sharpening a pencil with his pocketknife. "You just sit there and take a nap."

But Celeste couldn't sleep. She watched as Joseph started to sketch her. He began with a soft, arching line: the contour of her back. Then a second line swept over the first, hinting at her tail.

"You've got such beautiful eyes, Little One," Joseph remarked. He studied her face and sketched the outline of her eyes and ears. Details followed: the white whiskers and pink nose, the tiny toes tucked under, soft and cream colored. With the side of his pencil he shaded in the background pattern of the bandanna and the tiny soft lines of her fur. He chose a softer, darker-leaded pencil and added still more details. Celeste watched as her eyes in the drawing became darker and more alive, the inner curves and shadows of her ears more prominent. Joseph took an eraser and touched certain places on the paper, creating highlights. The whole portrait took only minutes. Celeste could see that it was an exact likeness, with a warmth and spirit, and just enough details to show it was her, Celeste.

With a soft pencil Joseph signed his name along the edge of a shadow. "Hey!" He laughed. "You should sign your name, too, Little One. After all, you're the subject matter. And I can't think of a better subject!"

Using the blade of his knife, he shaved off some graphite dust from one of the softer pencil leads. He carefully gathered up Celeste, rubbed the bottom of one of her paws in the gray powder, and then gently pressed her paw to the paper, next to his own signature.

"Here," Joseph said. "This is for being a good model." He reached into his trousers pocket and fished out a peanut. "Your favorite!"

Celeste sat in the bandanna, contentedly nibbling the nut and gazing at her portrait.

CHAPTER TWELVE.

Pigeons.

She awoke during the heat of a lazy afternoon and poked her head out of Joseph's pocket; they were in the shade of a magnolia, and Joseph was sketching.

Celeste casually looked to the north and saw a ma.s.sive cloud off in the distance. It spread low against the horizon, like a gray smudge. A storm is coming A storm is coming, Celeste thought, looking at the sky as it darkened and thickened.

"That's odd," she heard Joseph murmur to himself. He had noticed the same cloud. "No thunder or lightning flashes."

They sat watching the cloud swiftly approach. There was an eerie quality to it that Celeste couldn't quite put her paw on; it wasn't like the storms that she had seen come and go during the summer. There was no scent of rain pushing ahead of this cloud, no distant rumbling or shifting of air pressure. This cloud undulated and twisted. It spread and waved and rippled.

They heard yelling. Several men were racing across the yard, pointing and gesturing at the approaching cloud. "Here they come!" they shouted. A few of them were hauling logs and dead branches to an open field one after another, making huge piles.

Still the cloud came closer.

The men dotted themselves across the field, and Celeste noted now that they were all carrying guns. "Get ready!" they called to one another.

And then suddenly the cloud was upon them. Celeste looked up, mesmerized, as it became a living thing, the endless puffs of cloud becoming enormous pulsing flocks of birds, millions and millions of them. The flocks stretched from horizon to horizon; Celeste gaped openmouthed as she saw the entire sky filled with layer upon layer of flapping wings. Their droppings pattered to the ground like a wet snow. Some flew near enough for her to see them clearly: graceful and strong, with rapid wing beats and long, pointy tails. Their feathers were a beautiful mossy gray with iri-descent highlights that shimmered violet, green, and copper.

The beating of millions of wings created a rush of wind. The sound was astonishing, too-just like the wind from a thunderstorm.

Joseph seemed just as excited. "h.e.l.lo! h.e.l.lo!" he called up, waving at the huge flock; and Celeste waved, too. The sight of it so exhilarated and amazed her, she wanted to be a part of it.

Then they heard the guns. They were firing from every direction, with blasts of buckshot that brought down several of the beautiful birds at once. Celeste saw hundreds, then thousands of them dropping from the sky every minute. The flock never changed its path. It kept moving in the same direction, seemingly never ending. A river of birds kept flowing overhead; wave after wave were shot, and the birds fell like hailstones.

Celeste smelled smoke. Looking down, she saw the piles of logs had been set afire. Thousands more of the birds were being choked as they flew through the smoke from the fires, and were dropping to the fields below. Their bodies were being collected and thrown onto wagons. The men were laughing and shouting, "We're going to eat good tonight!" and "Nothin' I love more than fried pigeon!"

Joseph had heard stories about the ma.s.sive flocks of pigeons-the birds were called pa.s.senger pigeons-but he'd never witnessed one. And he'd seen hunting before, of course, but never as part of a wholesale slaughter like this. "I'm sickened, Little One," he said to Celeste.

Celeste burrowed down in the pocket and tried covering her ears; but still she could hear the sounds of the wings, and the shots, and the shouts.

The flock flew overhead all night and most of the following morning.