Heartfire: The Tales of Alvin Maker, Volume V Read Online Free PDF Page A

my grandmother.” He started unloading the gun.
    “You promise
what
!” demanded Arthur.
    Alvin almost laughed aloud, except that Arthur Stuart was so grim about it, making sure there were no loopholes through which Audubon could slip once Arthur brought the geese back.
    “I promise, I shoot no gooses! Pas de shooting of gooses!”
    “Not even powder shooting, whatever that is. No shooting
any
birds
all day
,” Arthur said.
    “Not ‘powder,’ you ignorant boy. J’ai dit ‘pas de.’
Rien! No
shooting of gooses, that’s what I say!” In a mutter, he added, “Tous les sauvages du monde sont ici aujourd’hui.”
    Alvin chuckled. “No shooting savages, either, if you don’t mind.”
    Audubon looked at him, furious and embarrassed. “Parlez-vous français?”
    “Je ne parle pas français,” said Alvin, remembering a phrase from the few halting French lessons Margaret tried before she finally gave up on getting Alvin to speak any language other than English. Latin and Greek had already been abandoned by then. But he did understand the word
sauvage
, having heard it so often in the French fort of Detroit when he went there as a boy with Ta-Kumsaw.
    “C’est vrai,” muttered Audubon. Then, louder: “I make the promise you say. Bring me a goose that stand in one place for my painting.”
    “You going to answer my questions?” asked Arthur Stuart.
    “Yes of course,” said Audubon.
    “A real answer, and not just some stupid nothing like adults usually say to children?”
    “Hey,” said Alvin.
    “Not you,” said Arthur Stuart quickly. But Alvin retained his suspicions.
    “Yes,” said Audubon in a world-weary voice. “I tell you all the secret of the universe!”
    Arthur Stuart nodded, and walked to the point where the bank was highest. But before calling the geese, he turned to face Audubon one last time. “Where do you want the bird to stand?”
    Audubon laughed. “You are the very strange boy! This is what you Americans call ‘the brag’?”
    “He ain’t bragging,” said Alvin. “He really has to know where you want the goose to stand.”
    Audubon shook his head, then looked around, checked the angle of the sun, and where there was a shady spot where he could sit while painting. Only then could he point to where the bird would have to pose.
    “All right,” said Arthur Stuart. He faced the river and babbled again, loudly, the sound carrying across the water. The geese rose from the surface and flew rapidly to shore, landing in the water or on the meadow. The leadgoose, however, landed near Arthur Stuart, who led it toward the spot Audubon had picked.
    Arthur looked at the Frenchman impatiently. He was just standing there, mouth agape, watching the goose come into position and then stop there, standing still as a statue. “You gonna draw in the mud with a stick?” asked Arthur.
    Only then did Audubon realize that his paper and colors were still in his sack. He jogged briskly to the bag, stopping now and then to look back over his shoulder and make sure the goose was still there. While he was out of earshot, Alvin asked Arthur, “You forget we were leaving Philadelphia this morning?”
    Arthur looked at him with the expression of withering scorn that only the face of an adolescent can produce. “You can go anytime you like.”
    At first Alvin thought he was telling him to go on and leave Arthur behind. But then he realized that Arthur was merely stating the truth: Alvin could leave Philadelphia whenever he wanted, so it didn’t matter if it was this morning or later. “Verily and Mike are going to get worried if we don’t get back soon.”
    “I don’t want no birds to die,” said Arthur.
    “It’s God’s job to see every sparrow fall,” said Alvin. “I didn’t hear about him advertising that the position was open.”
    Arthur just clammed up and said no more. Soon Audubon was back, sitting in the grass under the tree, mixing his colors to match the exact color of the