Point of No Return by Paul McCusker

Author:Paul McCusker
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: ebook
ISBN: 9781604828436
Publisher: Tyndale House Publishers, Inc.
Published: 2011-10-07T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THREE

Jack tells about bird-watching.

“NOW, TELL ME HOW one identifies birds,” Uncle Andrew asked the next day as we tramped across a field not far from Mason’s house.

It was a pop quiz. Just that morning Uncle Andrew lectured me about how to be a bird-watcher. He said that if I was going to be his assistant, I had to at least sound like I knew what I was talking about.

I tried to think as I adjusted the sack hanging from my shoulder. In it were Uncle Andrew’s pads of papers, pens, and watercolors so he could sketch some of the birds we hoped to find. “The marks around the eyes…” I said.

“And?”

I thought again. “The marks on their wings…”

“Very good. And what else?”

My mind was blank, so I guessed. “The color of their beaks?”

Uncle Andrew shook his head. “I suppose the shape of their beaks might be helpful, even the color. But you guessed the wrong end. The correct answer is: the marks on their outer tail feathers.”

I frowned. “Oh, yeah.”

We reached the edge of some woods and Uncle Andrew stopped. He pointed to a cavity in a nearby tree. “There.”

I looked up but didn’t see what he was pointing at.

“See? The Eastern Bluebird.”

My eyes finally fixed on a bright-blue bird with an orangey chest sitting on a branch. Another bird just like it flew in from the field and landed on the branch. The high-pitched chirps from the tree said that it was a mom and dad watching over a nest.

“Do you want to draw them?” I asked.

“No, I’ve sketched some of them from a previous trip. But I wanted you to see them for yourself. That way, if anyone asks, you can say what kind of bird you saw and give a reasonable description.”

“Eastern Bluebird,” I repeated.

“Come along,” he said and continued into the woods.

“Where are we going?”

Uncle Andrew spoke softly. “These woods circle Mason’s plantation. I want to stroll around the perimeter, then ‘accidentally’ come upon the fields where the slaves will be working. Lord willing, I’ll have a chance to talk to them.”

We walked through the woods and every once in a while Uncle Andrew would stop to sketch on his pad, or he’d point out different birds to me. Eventually we got to the edge of a field. In the distance, we could see a group of slaves clearing the field. An overseer sat nearby and barked orders at them.

“Set up my easel here,” Uncle Andrew said. “I’ll go have a word with the overseer, so he won’t chase us off.”

I nodded and started to unpack the bag while he strode across the field in large steps. I had just set up the wooden legs of the easel when I heard the clanging of several bells. At first I thought it might be the cook signaling everyone that it was time for lunch and didn’t pay attention. But the clanging came closer and closer, so I looked up. Three slaves were carrying a huge log away from the field and toward the woods.

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