The stagnant air sat unmoving around the plantation. The oppressive heat seemed even hotter because of the persistent drone of cicadas in the treetops. Celeste looked out over the garden from her vantage point on the bedroom windowsill. She could see a dark bank of clouds far off to the west, still miles away but moving toward the plantation. If she wanted to find Cornelius some dogwood berries—and she had said that she would try—she’d have to do it soon; she did not want to be caught out in a storm.

She remembered when Ellis once spoke of a tunnel, a little-used passage that led from under the floorboards through the stone foundation of the house to the outside beyond the cellar. Maybe she could use this passageway to locate the dogwood tree. She bid Cornelius good-bye and set off.

The early evening provided enough shadows to hide Celeste. From Joseph’s room she warily made her way down the two flights of stairs and to the dining room without being discovered. She saw no sign of the cat; perhaps the heat of the day had sent it to doze on the front porch.

Her old home under the floorboards seemed even dustier and darker than she remembered. Her remaining baskets lay in a jumble. She picked the largest and strongest one, throwing it over her shoulder.

She checked all along the tunnel under the sideboard. Finally she discovered a small entryway. It led to a crevice between the cool stones of the house’s foundation. Up ahead, she saw daylight.

She poked out her nose and then emerged from the house into a tangle of shrubbery, feeling thankful that she was hidden.

Her eyes widened at the scene around her. She suddenly realized how alone and vulnerable she was without the protection of Joseph’s shirt pocket. The forest of plants, the sounds, even the red clay soil under her toes seemed foreign to her. Each of her senses prickled with excitement.

She looked up between the branches of an azalea bush. Steely gray cloud formations were now blocking what was left of a pink streak of sunset, and she heard deep rumblings of thunder. There were shouts near the barns and fields, warnings and commands: A storm was coming and all things needed to be secured. Celeste heard the whinnies of horses as they were hurried into the barn, along with wagons of cotton and flax.

The barn! Now to find the dogwood tree.

Her eyes moved from the barn to the split-rail fence that surrounded a pen, and she could see, even from this distance, a large hog lying there. She hurried through the yard and across the lane to the pen.

The hog seemed to be asleep. Celeste climbed up onto one of the rails and called out.

“Hello!”

The hog woke up with a quick snort. He was enormous, with friendly, curious eyes.

“Hmm? Who’s that?” he asked.

“Sorry to interrupt your nap,” Celeste said, “but could you direct me to the nearest dogwood tree?”

“Dogwood? With the little red berries? Follow your nose! End of the fence there’s a dogwood. Just stay on the fence rail and you’re there!”

“Thank you! Thank you so much!” Celeste called out as her tiny paws scampered along the split rail. And indeed, ahead of her she saw a small tree laden with red fruit.

“Hey! Get inside!” she heard the hog grunt after her. “Storm’s comin’!”

Now to find the dogwood tree.

She decided to turn right, and dodged around ivy vines and iris leaves, nearly bumping into a fat, brown toad.

“Hey, dearie! Where’s the fire?” the toad croaked.

Celeste gulped. She had never seen anything that looked quite like this.

“Hello,” she stammered. “I’m looking for a dogwood tree…but I’m not sure where it is. I can’t get my bearings…. Do you know of any nearby?”

“Dogwood, eh?” answered the toad. “Yep. You’re heading the wrong way. Turn around; head straight, all the way to the corner of the house. Can’t miss it.”

“Thank you very much!” Celeste turned and started off. She heard a rumble of thunder not far off as the storm started to blow in.

“Better be fast, dearie!” the toad called after her. “Storm’s comin’! Feels like it’s going to be a big one!”

The toad watched Celeste race away, then hopped into the protection of the ivy vines. “Yep,” she croaked to herself. “Every bump on my skin can feel it. It’s going to be a real big one!”