Joseph hung his shirt on the door peg, with Celeste nestled in the pocket, and then collapsed on his cot, exhausted. Celeste could tell his head was throbbing, but the men had done a good job of cleaning and dressing the wound. She waited for his breathing to steady and slow, and finally he was asleep.

She watched the black-and-white bird, the woodpecker. It scooted awkwardly around the room. Joseph had left it some grubs to eat, but the bird ignored them. It cried pathetically most of the night and hopelessly hammered at anything wooden, reducing one of the chair legs to splinters.

The next morning Celeste saw it lying under the window listlessly. It seemed to have no fight left in it. Audubon took the bird and made sketches of it; but the drawings looked dull and lifeless, much like the woodpecker. Joseph took the bird outside to the garden, hoping that seeing the sky and trees would help. He laid the woodpecker under one of the magnolias, but it only stretched its neck out in the grass and stared up blankly. It again refused the grubs and worms that Joseph brought it. Celeste tried squeaking out encouragement from Joseph’s pocket, but the woodpecker never responded.

Later that evening Celeste was perched in Joseph’s pocket watching him sketch. The setting sun was streaming in through the bedroom window. They heard Audubon call out.

“Joseph! Fetch me some more pins!”

Dutifully, Joseph searched a wardrobe drawer for the pins.

As they entered Audubon’s room, Celeste chittered in disbelief, then squeaked in horror. Audubon was carefully lifting the drooped and lifeless body of the ivory-billed woodpecker out of a canvas saddlebag. Its eyes were glazed over and cloudy. Its head hung down, jiggling like a knot at the end of a loose rope. The two wings, one broken and twisted, flopped forward and back as Audubon tried positioning the bird against a wooden board. Celeste could see that a small, dark purple streak of dried blood had oozed from the corner of its long, curved beak.

Celeste witnessed a change in Joseph’s appearance. His eyes were somber. His voice quivered a bit, stumbling for words.

“This doesn’t seem right….”

“What doesn’t?”

“I don’t know…the way we’re doing this, the paintings.”

“What about them?”

Celeste noticed Joseph’s face getting red, and he was flustered as he spoke.

“You are looking to capture its life on paper, but by killing it first? By pinning it to a board?”

“I am painting their portraits; this is how they sit for me.”

“It was so majestic up in that enormous cypress tree….”

“There are plenty more woodpeckers where this one came from,” Audubon retorted. “There were possibly dozens in the woods where I took this one. One bird less won’t make any difference.”

“Maybe we could—” Joseph offered.

“What?” Audubon shot back. “Do you want to hold the bird for me while it is still alive and have its bill slice through your hand?”

“Perhaps a cage—”

“No! A caged bird will sit like a caged bird. I want my specimens posed like I want to paint them. Wings outstretched…as if they were alive!”

“But to kill them in order to make them look alive….” Joseph shook his head.

Audubon glared at the boy, his eyes dark and angry. For a moment Celeste was afraid for Joseph, but Audubon just lowered his voice and held out his hand.

“The pins, Joseph.”

Joseph handed the packet of pins to Audubon, who continued, “Your duty is to master the techniques of watercolor botanicals, not to question my handling of the bird specimens. I am preserving their beauty forever. If I could paint their portraits as well another way, I would. Now go!”

Joseph’s face was red, his mouth rigid. He turned and strode down the hallway, leaving Audubon to sketch the pinned and trussed ivory-billed woodpecker.

He paused, thinking: A landscape with no woodpeckers? His life had seen lonely moments, and probably would again; but he couldn’t imagine the loneliness of being the last of his own kind on Earth.

He thought about the ivory-billed; there were certainly other woodpeckers all along the river valley. But what if there was only one more? How would it spend the rest of its days? On an endless and futile search up and down the valley, looking to find another ivory-billed woodpecker?

As if sensing Joseph’s melancholy thoughts, Celeste burrowed farther down in the shirt pocket.