He chuckled.
"If I were you," Charles offered, "I would have my portrait done often, otherwise the camel and scarecrow portrait will be the one you'll be remembered by."
"By the eternal! I would have met the man on the field of honor if Pd even suspected that could happen."
Although Charles detested the practice of dueling and would ordinarily have spoken out against it, this time he said nothing. One didn't anger a sitter, especially General Jackson. Charles changed the subject. "You look much rested today. I feel I'm painting a younger, more vigorous man this morning, someone girded for victory."
Jackson smiled. "Victory is always waiting for some one. I aim to be the right one in this skirmish." "And a few more, later, eh General?" Richard asked.
"Could be. I'd hate to let a long-winded rascal like Clay have the last word about how to put down an Indian rebellion." "Congress will be reasonable," Johnson said. "Mr. Poindexter will see to that. We'll scatter them quickly with you here to lead the battle."
Anna applied blue paint in fast sure strokes to the miniature image of his uniformed chest. It was as though she had picked up the rhythm of his heart, Sarah thought.
On the morning of the final sitting, the General had become a friend. His pipe sent up peaceful clouds of gray. His face had lost that strained weariness of the first day, and his great inner force was evident in his every movement. The energies spent in battle seemed to be regenerating, congealing, pushing him forward and filling his chest with the heady air of anticipation. Did he so relish confrontation for its own sake? Sarah wondered.
At the end of the sitting, General Jackson stood tall, smiled and admired Charles's portrait of President Monroe and that of Mamout Yarrow. "These faces speak well of you, Mr. Peale. You have even managed to show me as less than a scoundrel. I thank you for it. What a man's portrait says about him can be important, they tell me."
"The people want to see what their General looks like. And I have tried to give an honest report. I'm sure this canvas will bring many into the Museum for a glimpse."
General Jackson then turned to Anna with a mysterious look on his face, his eyes cast down. "And to you, Miss Peale, I'd like to say special thanks. You have given me the possession I treasure most in the world." He raised his eyes, revealing a softness not seen before.
Anna looked perplexed.
Jackson unbuttoned the jacket of his uniform and reached inside to loosen the buttons of his shirt. He pulled out a black cord worn around his neck. On the cord was a small ivory oval. He turned it around to show the likeness of a dark-haired woman.
Anna's face brightened. "Yes, I painted Mrs. Jackson four years ago."
Anna's hands fluttered as she stepped closer and touched the miniature.
"You have captured the look in her eyes I remember so well,"
Jackson said softly. "It brings me good luck." He paused. "And it brings me my Rachel."
Speechless, Anna squeezed Sarah's hand as General Jackson tucked the miniature gently back into its place next to his heart.
Chapter 8
Charles had not accomplished everything he set out to do in Washington City, but the journey was a success. The fine portraits he brought back home with him proved his skill was as sharp as ever. Anna gained confidence. Her miniatures of Monroe and Clay had already brought her commissions in Philadelphia. Charles had arranged for James to receive his war pension, and had spoken to the committee on Major Long's expedition about considering Titian for the post of naturalist.
When Titian's appointment came, the whole family wanted to celebrate with him. Sarah arrived at the Museum for the party at closing time. Rubens asked her to bring the party guests to the Mammoth Room, and she escorted three young men, including artist Tom Sully. As they approached the gathering, Sarah noticed that Titian looked nervous; his gaze often darted back to the entrance. She suspected he was looking for Eliza, the girl he would miss beyond all others.
"Well, Cous," Sarah said, "you look every inch the adventurer." Titian took both her hands in his, and planted his much-practiced cousin kiss on her lips. "And you look ravishing."
Sarah stood back to look into her dearest cousin's face with a sense of sadness, for she would miss him very much. Not to see his blond head and teasing blue eyes for such a long time was a gloomy thought. "I take it you haven't changed your mind about this silly expedition," she said. "Wouldn't you rather stay right here in Philadelphia so you can know just where Eliza is going and with whom?"
"Sarah." His voice lowered and he looked down. "You will write me, won't you? You will tell me what you can about Eliza? And about the family and what you're doing. Please."
Sarah promised solemnly. "I will. And you must write often. Tell us what it's really like in the Missouri river wilderness."
Titian laughed. "I'll do better than that. I'll bring back drawings and paintings of wildlife in the natural background."
"Here we are," a voice said. Sarah turned to see Margaretta bringing in some of the guests. As they advanced toward Titian, Sarah retreated, smiled at Margaretta. "Are other guests waiting?"
Margaretta lowered her head and whispered. "Raphaelle is here and Uncle Charles isn't going to like his condition."
Sarah tensed. "I don't like the way Rubens treats Raphaelle when he's like that."
"Why? Rubens doesn't scold. He just tries to get Raphelle away by himself. What do you think he should do?"
Sarah sighed as she walked back to the ticket booth with Margaret- ta. "You don't need me to help bring the guests up," Sarah said. "I'll stay with Raphaelle for a while."
Margaretta shrugged. Sarah ducked back behind the ticket office and went into the preserving room. There Raphaelle sat on a stool in the corner while Rubens paced before him, drumming his fingers against his lips, his spectacles having slipped down from the bridge of his nose. "Hello," Sarah said. "I came to drink tea with Raphaelle for a while."
Rubens stared sternly, but Raphaelle laughed. "Wonderful. Dear little Sarah always has time for her errant cousin. I'm in disgrace again.
I doubt if you want to drink tea with me. Look at Rubens. God couldn't have looked so angry at Judas."
"You have no right to do this," Rubens said.
Sarah turned to Rubens and whispered. "Don't worry. Raphaelle and I will be fine here for quite a while. You're needed out there.
Please—we'll stay here and talk." She made her face confident and insistent. "All right. Drink tea with him. I'll be close by."
"Fine," Sarah said, putting the water on for tea. She turned to
Raphaelle. "Are you feeling wretched?"
"Not noticeably at the moment. The secret now is to stay seated."
His laughter was brittle and forced. "I brought Titian a present. Would you like to see it? I was going to show it to Rubens, but he's so condescending, I didn't offer."
"I'd love to."
Raphaelle looked at Sarah appraisingly; then fumbled with a sack at his feet. "You know how Titian loves butterflies and moths?"
"Yes." Sarah watched as Raphaelle lifted a flat piece of wood out of the sack and laid it down on the table. She gasped. "A beautiful butterfly." If she hadn't seen it as it came out of the sack, she would have thought it was a real specimen mounted on a board. "It's marvelous!" As she spoke she let her fingers trace lightly over the painting.
"I was going to set it on the top of the cabinet so it would look as though someone had ..."
"Ouch," she said, pulling her hand away. "Heavens! That's a real pin."
Raphaelle roared with laughter. "So you didn't know what was real and what wasn't? When Titian sees it, he will think someone has been tinkering with his specimens and left this