Unlike “Cotton-Eyed Joe,” which involved boys and girls, “The Widows’ Dance” featured girls only. It would come after the first attack.
Twelve girls stood in two rows facing the audience. As the music began, the girls pretended to hold the ends of their long skirts and swayed back and forth. Ms. Martínez told them they would be wearing black, flowing skirts with black tops. She had found the skirts among the many costumes Miss Mac had used in her programs over the years. The girls danced, moving forward then backward, with short, scissors-kick steps and turns.
Myra Coonrod had resigned herself to be a dancer, since she couldn’t be a soldier. As she danced, she imagined herself in her black dress with her hair braided in red, white, and green ribbons. Ms. Martínez had promised the girls that she would fix their hair for the show.
As the dance came to an end, the girls formed one line in front of the stage. Myra was so deep in her thoughts that she lost her place. She was facing the left side of the auditorium.
“Myra,” Ms. Martínez said gently, “this is a group dance, not a solo performance.”
The girls laughed. Myra laughed, too.
Raquel sat in the back of the auditorium and watched them onstage. They looked like they were having so much fun. It brought back memories of the Dieciséis de septiembre festivities in Bustamante, Nuevo León. Her teachers had taught her dances like Jesusita en Chihuahua, Las Zacatecas, La Rueda de San Miguel, and of course, El Jarabe Tapatío, the national dance of Mexico. She almost wished she had accepted Ms. Martínez’s invitation to be a dancer.
“All right, let’s go over Scene Eleven,” Mrs. Frymire called out. “We’ve made a few changes, so let’s see what they sound like.” She handed Marco the new script. “You are now El Presidente, Santa Anna.”
Marco quickly scanned his lines. Then he read: “Se ha llegado la hora. Haremos planes para atacar el Alamo por última vez.”
Arlene Furr turned to Norma Herrera and whispered, “What did he say?”
She whispered back, “He’s telling his men that they will make plans to attack the Alamo for the last time.”
Arlene nodded.
Izzy: “Perdóneme, Su Excelencia, pero ¿no sería mejor esperar hasta que llegue Gómez con los cañones grandes?”
Marco: “¿Esperar? ¿Para qué? Entran y salen mensajeros de allí como moscas.”
Norma laughed.
“What did he say?” Arlene asked.
“Shh. Listen.”
Marco: “Ayer entraron treinta y dos soldados a la ciudad de González. ¿Esperaremos a que se fortalezcan? ¡No! Ya es hora de terminar con esto. ¡Atacaremos mañana en la madrugada! ¡Vamos!”
Raquel clapped loudly. “Yay!”
Mrs. Frymire turned to Mrs. Pruitt and asked, “Did you understand any of that?”
Mrs. Pruitt smiled. “No, but I like it.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
On Saturday morning, Mr. Cansler and Mr. Watts built the Alamo façade on the top of the stage in the auditorium. They constructed the frame using ten-foot 2 x 4s. Steps on each side were added, separated by a catwalk where some of the performers would stand. Sheetrock panels were carefully nailed onto the frame for the walls. Mr. Cansler sawed out a bell tower, which was then attached to the top.
Mr. Watts spray-painted a long, wide, piece of PVC pipe black. The pipe would serve as the Alamo’s cannon. It would be fastened to the top once the Alamo was completed.
Ms. Martínez arrived around one o’clock to check on the progress.
“What do you think?” Mr. Watts asked, gazing proudly at their creation.
“It looks fantastic!” she said. “Except…”
Mr. Watts’s face fell. “What?”
“Nothing. Well, I guess it doesn’t matter.” She shrugged. “It’s just that the original Alamo didn’t have a bell tower.”
Mr. Cansler wiped the sweat from his forehead with a plaid handkerchief. “Well, ma’am, I ain’t no Alamo expert. I just went by the picture in Billy Ray’s history book.”
“No, no, please, I’m sorry,” Ms. Martínez said. “I think it looks great.”
“Well, it should,” he barked. “After all the work we done.”
The following Monday afternoon, Ms. Martínez, with the help of Ms. Posey and some of the art students, painted the Alamo façade.
First she prepared plaster with a cement base in a large tub. Coarse sand was added to the mixture. After it was ready, the kids spread the gooey substance on the walls of the Alamo. Once it dried, the walls had an appearance of stone. Next, they painted it a cream color with dark tints brushed on to give the walls a more realistic appearance. The door, the columns, the windows, and dozens of minute details were then added.
All the boys who were playing fighters at the Alamo, except for Billy Ray and Marco, got to make their own rifles. Billy Ray wouldn’t carry a gun in the play because as William B. Travis, he would lead with a sword. Marco wouldn’t be using a weapon at all.
“You’re El Presidente,” Mrs. Frymire explained. “You’ll stand at the back and watch your men do all the fighting. You won’t be part of the attack.”
“I won’t? Man, what a rip.”
The boys made the barrels of their rifles out of thin PVC pipes. They formed rifle butts out of cardboard and taped them to the ends. The gun barrels were painted black; the rifle butts were painted chocolate brown.
Orlando Chávez pointed up at the large, black, PVC pipe stationed on top of the Alamo and asked, “Will that cannon be used for anything?”
Billy Ray turned to him and, with a smirk on his face, said, “Yeah. We’re gonna use it to shoot Mexicans.”
“Billy Ray!” Mrs. Frymire cried.
“Well, that’s what it’s for, isn’t it?”
Part of her wanted to tear into him, let him know what she thought of his narrow-mindedness. But after meeting his father, she accepted that Billy Ray didn’t develop that attitude on his own.
“The reason I’m asking,” Orlando continued, unbothered by Billy Ray’s comments, “is that my dad has a fog machine. He uses it every Halloween to make our house look scary. Anyway, I was thinking that maybe we could attach it to the cannon somehow. Then during the battle scenes, we could release puffs of smoke from it. You know, to make it look like it’s firing.”
“Orlando, that’s an excellent idea,” Mrs. Frymire said. “Mr. Gewertz lent me a sound effects CD that has some gunfire and cannon shot sound effects. If your dad will let us borrow the fog machine, it’ll add so much to our program.”
“Don’t forget about my bottle of fake blood,” Orlando reminded her.
For the next several days, the students continued rehearsing for the play. By late Wednesday afternoon, they were finally ready.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
The Josephine McKeever Memorial Auditorium had begun to fill with anxious, chatty parents, crying babies, and hyperactive toddlers. Video cameras on tripods were strategically placed throughout the room. A variety of Texas songs wafted from the speakers above as people continued to file in.
“Over here! I found two empty chairs,” Blanca shouted, pointing to a row near the back of the auditorium. She and her mother took their seats. Across from them sat Mr. Cansler and a woman whom Ms. Peña presumed was Mrs. Cansler. Their eyes met briefly. Ms. Peña glared at them with a stony expression before turning her attention back to the stage.
Mr. Rathburn appeared and welcomed everyone. He promised them an entertaining and exciting show.
The cafeteria served as the holding tank where the performers waited until they were ready to go onstage. Mrs. Pruitt and Mrs. Frymire helped the students with their costumes. Ms. Martínez fixed the girls’ hair. Mr. Watts monitored the noise.
Billy Ray Cansler’s aunt had cut and hemmed the front of one of his father’s black shirts, leaving the back part to serve as coattails. Billy Ray wore white pants, black boots, and a black felt hat. A brown belt with a sheath that held his plastic sword was wrapped around hi
s waist.
Moe Craddock wore a tan, fringed, leather jacket his mother found at the Army and Navy store. John Ahne let him borrow his coonskin cap. John had bought it at the real Alamo mission when he and his parents visited San Antonio.
Marco’s grandfather sat at one of the cafeteria tables. He pulled a black felt Napoleon hat with red marabou trim from a bag. When Marco told him he didn’t have a hat to wear with his costume, the old man rented one from a costume shop.
“Here, put this on.”
Marco slipped on the hat and gazed at himself in the mirror.
“Don’t he look beautiful, ma’am?” the old man asked Mrs. Pruitt.
“Yes, he does. He’s going to make a wonderful Santa Anna.”
“You know, ma’am, me and Santa Anna have something in common.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, he had only one leg, like me.”
Marco groaned. “Please, Grandpa, don’t start with your one-leg jokes.” He turned to his teacher. “Mrs. Pruitt, my grandfather’s pulling your leg.”
“No, I ain’t.” Then he smiled mischievously. “But you’re welcome to pull mine if you want.” He held up his artificial leg.
“Grandpa, no!”
Mrs. Pruitt smiled. “Your grandfather’s right. Santa Anna did lose a leg. Not a lot of people know that.”
“What? You’re kidding me, aren’t you?” Marco said.
“Nah,” the old man replied. “He got it blown off in the war.”
Marco looked at him with doubt. “But in all the pictures I’ve seen of him, Santa Anna has two legs. Shouldn’t he be wearing a peg leg or something?”
“It didn’t happen at the Alamo, boy,” the old man said. “It happened a couple of years later. Right, ma’am?”
“The Pastry War of 1838,” Mrs. Pruitt answered.
“See, Marco, France declared war on Mexico ‘cause some Mexican soldiers stole some bread from a French bakery. De una panadería.”
Marco laughed. “Now I know you’re making it up.”
“No, I ain’t. Ask your teacher. She’ll tell you.”
Mrs. Pruitt nodded. “Your grandfather’s correct.”
“Anyway, during the war, Santa Anna got shot in the leg, and they had to cut it off.”
“That is amazing,” Mrs. Pruitt told Marco’s grandfather. “Where did you learn that story?”
“Same place you did, ma’am. From good teachers.”
At the back of the cafeteria Mrs. Hornbuckle applied Agatha’s makeup. Mascara, blush, eyeliner, eye shadow, and tubes of lipstick were strewn on the table.
Agatha wore a flowing brown skirt with a white blouse and a yellow bonnet for her Susanna Dickenson costume.
Myra Coonrod stopped by her table. “You look very pretty, Agatha.” She stared at the makeup on the table. “I don’t wear makeup.”
“Here, try this.” Agatha picked up a soft powder brush. “It’s Caribbean Flamingo from the Trudy Carlisle Junior Miss Series.” She tapped the brush across Myra’s face.
Myra giggled. “It tickles.”
Agatha swept a tube of lipstick across Myra’s lips. “This is Cinnamon Frost. It’ll blend well with your skin color.”
Myra picked up a hand mirror and gazed at her reflection. She laughed nervously. “I look funny.”
“No, you don’t,” Agatha said. “You look beautiful.”
While the curtains were closed, the choir was herded onto the risers on each side of the Alamo.
Out front, Mr. Rathburn acknowledged everyone who helped with the program, including Mr. Cansler and Ms. Peña. Then, with the pomp and hype of a circus ringmaster, he announced grandly, “Ladies and gentlemen, the seventh-grade students at Rosemont School proudly present to you … Miss Josephine McKeever’s ‘The Battle of the Alamo’!”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
The house lights dimmed as the curtains opened. Dramatic, rousing music played while the actors took their places.
“Colonel. Colonel Travis. They’re coming after us. Hurry!”
“Whoa there, son. Calm down. What’s the problem?”
“The Mexican Army’s heading toward Texas. I’ve gotta warn Colonel Travis.”
“The Colonel already knows about that. In fact, we just finished a meeting to make plans on how we’re gonna fight them.”
“We’re gonna fight Santa Anna’s army?”
“I’m afraid we don’t have a choice.”
“But where are we gonna fight an army that big?”
“There’s only one logical place. The Alamo!”
“The Alamo?”
“That’s right. The Alamo!”
A musical interlude followed. Then, Judy Welch and Karen Ingram began their narration. Karen finished with: “And so, on February 23, 1836, in the town of San Antonio de Bexar, about one hundred eighty-eight brave Texans, who included such men as William Barret Travis, Jim Bowie, and Davy Crockett, gathered together in an old church mission called the Alamo. They converted it into a fort and prepared to fight Santa Anna and his armies, almost five thousand Mexican soldiers, for the right to call Texas a republic.”
The actors climbed onstage and delivered their lines with strong conviction and emotion. The audience laughed and clapped at Moe Craddock’s humorous take on Davy Crockett.
“I’m Jim Bowie, Colonel. We’re mighty glad to have you and your Tennessee boys join us in fighting for our cause.”
“Thanks, and the name’s Davy. I don’t much cotton to that Colonel stuff. Say, I’ve heard a few tales about ya myself and that toothpick ya carry around your waist. I’m lookin’ forward to swappin’ tall tales with ya.”
“I don’t think I’ll be up to much storytelling, Davy. I’ve been feeling kinda poor lately.”
“Well, no wonder. Look at ya. Ya look about as cheerful as a turkey on Thanksgivin’ Day. You gonna let ol’ Santy Anny getcha down? C’mon, Jim, let’s find us some señoritas and do some dancin’!”
This was the cue for “Cotton-Eyed Joe.”
After the dance, dark, ominous music played. It signaled the first appearance of the Mexican Army. Izzy and Orlando approached the Alamo. Orlando was waving a white flag of truce.
Izzy unrolled a scroll and read a declaration from El Presidente: “Del cuartel del Generalísimo Antonio López de Santa Anna, Presidente de México, al comandante de los rebeldes americanos. El Presidente manda este edicto: todos los ocupantes de la misión partirán inmediatamente, dejando sus armas atrás. Si esta orden no es obedecida, el Generalísimo tendrá que destruir el Álamo, y todos los ocupantes sufrirán la pena de muerte.”
“See, I told you they wouldn’t understand what the kids were saying if they spoke in Spanish,” Mrs. Frymire whispered to Mrs. Pruitt when she noticed how quiet the audience was.
“I disagree. Izzy’s doing a terrific job. And those costumes look wonderful.”
Luther: “Williams, you speak Spanish. What did he say?”
Eric: “He says El Presidente is giving us a chance to vacate the Alamo and for us to leave all our weapons behind. Otherwise, he will destroy the fort and all its occupants.”
Billy Ray to Izzy: “Well, you can tell Santa Anna what we think of his generous offer, amigo!” He pointed toward the cannon. The script called for Travis to answer with a cannon shot.
Mr. Gewertz punched the play button on the CD player.
Kaboom!
Mr. Watts threw the switch to the fog machine.
The wrong switch!
Instead of flipping the switch for short bursts of smoke, he accidentally flipped the one for a continuous flow. A steady stream of smoke wafted freely from the cannon’s mouth, fogging up the whole auditorium.
Mr. Watts panicked. He kept flipping the switch back and forth, but the smoke continued to pour out. Finally, Orlando ran behind the Alamo and corrected the problem. A short burst of smoke puffed out of the cannon. Mr. Gewertz played the cannon shot sound effect again.
Kaboom!
The Texans cheered loud
ly.
Moe: “Travis, you have such a fine way with words. I reckon El Presidente won’t have any trouble understanding your message.”
The choir sang a song called “In Search of the Promise Land.”
As soon as the song was over, loud explosions resonated throughout the auditorium. The Mexican Army charged and attacked the Alamo. The Texans fired back. More puffs of smoke billowed from the cannon. The audience hurrahed and whistled as the Texans drove back the Mexican Army.
“Cease fire! Cease fire!” Billy Ray shouted. “They’re retreating. Looks like they’ve had enough for one day. Captain, have your men check the casualties. Get Doc Sanders to help you.”
“Colonel! Look! Over at that church. They’re raising a red flag.”
“I see it. The Mexicans are letting us know with that flag that they’re not showing us any mercy, any quarter.”
“We’ve gotta get the women and children outta here. Soldier! Gather ‘em all and load ‘em into wagons. Let’s move ‘em out as soon as possible.”
Agatha Hornbuckle took the stage. She cradled a toy baby in her arms.
Mrs. Hornbuckle stood up and snapped some pictures. Then she waved her arms excitedly and shouted, “Hi, snookie!”
“Oh, Almeron,” Agatha said. “I’m not leaving you. I want to stay.”
“Susanna, that’s crazy. You saw what just happened. And that was nothing. The Mexicans will attack again at any moment, and it’ll be much worse next time. I want you and Angelina out of here as quickly as possible.”
Agatha gazed down at her baby. “I’m so worried! The Mexicans scare me. That red flag scares me. But I know you’re just as frightened as I am. Everyone here is.” She stared at Andy. “Yet, you’re staying. You’re staying … ” She turned her eyes back to the baby. “You’re staying because you believe in fighting for the freedom of Texas. Well, I believe in that freedom, too. I’m staying, Almeron. No matter what you say, I’m staying.”
Alamo Wars Page 14