Allie felt her heart slamming in her chest as Darryl Kavanaugh shook his head with disgust and walked toward her. He reached out and grabbed her upper arms so tightly that it hurt.
“Oww!” she said.
Mr. Kavanaugh brought his face to within inches of hers and spoke slowly. “You call this off now, or, believe me, you’re going to be very, very sorry.”
Allie stifled the scream that rose in her throat. Just then a small frightened voice cried, “Allie!”
Mr. Kavanaugh looked up in surprise and loosened his grasp on her. Allie turned to see Michael watching wide-eyed, his little lacrosse stick raised in alarm.
“Mike, go! Get Uncle Hal!” she gasped.
But instead of turning around, Michael charged forward. “You let go of Allie!” he said fiercely. He drew back his lacrosse stick and, before Allie could take in what was happening, he whacked Mr. Kavanaugh in the side with it. Mr. Kavanaugh stumbled and fell backward against a set of risers, which were piled high with a miscellaneous assortment of stored items. A speaker the size of a small refrigerator teetered and, in what seemed like slow motion, fell, hitting him on the side of the head before landing with a loud thud.
Allie watched in horrified fascination as Mr. Kavanaugh fell to the floor, where he lay with his mouth hanging open, still and quiet as a stone. Oh, no, she thought. Please don’t let him be dead!
Michael ran over and they both knelt beside the prostrate man. Michael looked at Allie, his face white and his eyes wide with shock. With a sob of relief, Allie saw Mr. Kavanaugh’s chest rise and fall. “He’s breathing, Mike. He’s okay. I mean, he’s alive, anyway.” Her mind raced and she added, “Quick! Run and find Uncle Hal!”
She kept her eyes on the front of Mr. Kavanaugh’s shirt, holding panic at bay by focusing on every breath he took.
Soon Michael came running back with Uncle Hal right behind him.
“He was hurting Allie!” Michael said, pointing to Darryl Kavanaugh. “I hit him with my lacrosse stick and he fell and that big black thing fell on his head!”
“Did he hurt you, Allie?” Uncle Hal asked, his eyes blazing with anger.
“Yes, but Michael stopped him.” She didn’t add how terrified she had felt. She looked at the still form of Mr. Kavanaugh. “What should we do?” she asked shakily.
“You go back to your play, and let me take care of him,” said Uncle Hal. “I’ll call for an ambulance, just to be sure, but I guarantee you he’s got a hard head.”
“What if he wakes up?” Allie asked.
Uncle Hal grinned. “I’ve got something out in my van that will keep him from causing any more trouble.”
“What is it?” Allie asked curiously.
“Uncle Hal never reveals his secret methods,” he said, giving Michael a little wink.
Miss Lunsford rushed up then, looking even more frazzled than before. “Allie!” she said urgently. “There you are! What on earth is going on over here? You’re making much too much noise! Cornplanter is about to go on for his speech—you’ve got to get over there right away!” She looked past Allie, saw Mr. Kavanaugh, and gasped.
“Go,” Uncle Hal urged Allie. He cocked a thumb at Mr. Kavanaugh. “I’ll take care of him.”
“Michael, you come with us,” Allie said, grabbing his hand and running over to where Miss Lunsford stood waiting anxiously.
“What happened to Mr. Kav—” Miss Lunsford began. Then she stopped and said breathlessly, “Oh, never mind, you’ll have to tell me later—”
She broke off as they saw Janelle stepping out from behind the curtain onto the stage. They heard her announce, “The pageant will now end with a speech by Cornplanter, the legendary Seneca orator.”
This was the moment when the surprise ending was supposed to begin. Dub was going to give a speech, all right, but not the one Mrs. Kavanaugh had written for him.
Allie gave Dub a quick high five before he stepped out into the spotlight. She wished she could watch him, but she had work to do. While Dub was speaking, Allie, Julie, and Pam had to pull off the trickiest part of their plan, the part they couldn’t rehearse in advance. They had to explain about the surprise ending to the cast members who didn’t know a thing about it, and get them on board. Their speedy cooperation was essential; without it, the plan was doomed.
As Allie, Julie, and Pam were trying to assemble the cast backstage, Miss Lunsford came to their rescue. The kids quickly gathered at her direction.
Speaking in a low voice so as not to be heard by the audience, Miss Lunsford said, “Things onstage are about to take an unexpected turn. We’re going to be adding a final scene that we never rehearsed. Remember when we talked about improvisation? Well, now is your chance to be part of the magic of live theater. Allie?”
Allie gave her a grateful smile and quickly explained how the massacre would unfold onstage, and that she would be playing Skayendady in the scene. “So,” she finished, “who wants to help?”
“The more soldiers and Indians out there, the better,” Miss Lunsford urged.
Allie had been afraid some of the kids might be fearful or resistant, but, after their initial surprise, they all appeared enthusiastic about the idea. To Allie’s relief, they were staring at her eagerly, asking what they should do.
All except Janelle, who was standing stock-still, her face white, her eyes wide with shock.
Allie looked away quickly and continued talking. “Okay,” she said. “If you’re already dressed as an Indian, you’ll be part of a scene where we’re peacefully going about our business in the village. When the soldiers show up and start shooting, scream, cry, fall down, pretend to die—you get the idea.”
“Cool!” said the other kids.
“But no fooling around. This was serious business,” Allie warned. “Okay, so the rest of you will be soldiers,” she went on, pointing to a pile of military clothing supplied by Uncle Hal. “If you want to be one of the army guys, put on some soldier stuff. Julie and Pam will help you. Grab torches”—she indicated a pile of sticks with tongues of orange and red and yellow cellophane taped to the ends—“and guns.”
“Guns?” one of the boys asked excitedly.
“They’re not real,” Allie told him. “But when you fire them, they’re going to sound real. Oh, and there’s going to be a lot of smoke, too, so don’t freak.”
Miss Lunsford added, “We need to do this very quickly and very quietly, people. Soldiers, don’t worry about how well your costume fits. With all the smoke and all the action, the audience isn’t going to notice.”
There were murmurs of “Wow,” and “Cool!” as the cast members scurried to get ready.
“Thanks so much, Miss Lunsford,” Allie said.
Miss Lunsford grinned. “My pleasure,” she answered.
Allie smiled back, then turned to find herself face-to-face with Janelle. She caught her breath. The two girls stared at each other for what felt like a very long time.
Allie’s mind was spinning in dismay. She and the others had come so close. And now, at the last moment, Janelle was going to ruin everything.
Instead, to Allie’s amazement, Janelle removed Skayendady’s beaded headpiece. “Here,” she said. “You’re going to need this, right?”
It took Allie a moment to take in what Janelle was doing. She was so overwhelmed with surprise and relief and gratitude, she didn’t know what to say. Impulsively, she reached over and hugged the other girl.
Then Janelle said hesitantly, “Do you think I can be a soldier?”
Allie looked at her. “Sure,” she said. “There are plenty of costumes.”
“I just pretend to kill people, right?” Janelle asked.
Allie nodded. Then she asked quietly, “Are you sure you want to do this? Your father—”
For a moment, doubt and fear flashed across Janelle’s face. Then she straightened her shoulders and interrupted Allie. “I’m sure.”
Twenty-seven
Allie ran to the edge of the stage and peered pas
t the curtain to watch as Dub, dressed in the traditional feathered headgear, bib, leggings, and breechcloth of the Seneca male, paused for a moment in his speech. Then, with his chin held high, he continued speaking in a commanding voice. “Perhaps such scenes as you have just viewed did, indeed, take place between my people and yours. But now I wish you to know the truth about what happened on September 8, 1779, to the Seneca village at what you now call Poplar Point.
“At the time of your Revolutionary War, my people and the five other nations of the Iroquois Confederacy were forced to choose sides in a war we could not truly understand. The red-coated soldiers called us their brothers and said that the Great King in England considered us his children. They told us that their king had power no people could resist and that his goodness was as bright as the sun. What they said went to our hearts; we promised to obey this king. What the Seneca nation promises, we faithfully perform.
“But General George Washington, commander of the colonial troops, vowed revenge on us for siding with the British. He chose General John Sullivan to mount a campaign to punish us.”
The spotlight on Dub faded, and another shone on Brad.
Brad, resplendent as George Washington, sat at a desk drafting a letter. When he finished writing, he picked up the letter and read it aloud.
“Orders of George Washington to General John Sullivan, at Headquarters, May 31, 1779.
“The Expedition you are appointed to command is to be directed against the hostile tribes of the Six Nations of Indians, with their associates and adherents. The immediate objects are the total destruction and devastation of their settlements, and the capture of as many prisoners of every age and sex as possible. It will be essential to ruin their crops now in the ground and prevent their planting more.
“I would recommend that troops be detached to lay waste all the settlements around, with instructions to do it in the most effectual manner, that the country may not be merely overrun, but destroyed. Accept no offer of peace before the total ruin of their settlements is effected.”
Then the spotlight returned to Cornplanter, who spoke to George Washington: “You say we are in your hand and that by closing it you will crush us to nothing. Are you determined to crush us?
“Before you determine on a measure so unjust, look up to God, who made us as well as you. We hope he will not permit you to destroy the whole of our nation. Great Chief Washington, we open our hearts to you. Hear us once more.”
The spotlight returned to George Washington, who shook his head, picked up the pen again, and put his signature on the order to General Sullivan.
Next, a spotlight shone on Joey, attired in the military uniform of General John Sullivan. He looked up from the letter he was reading and said, “I, General John Sullivan, received my orders from General Washington. My men and I traveled through the territory of the Six Nations, systematically carrying out our mission in one Indian village after another. On September 8, 1779, my troops and I were camped on the east side of Seneca Lake. From there, I spotted a prosperous village across the water on the west side, at what you now call Poplar Point. I ordered it destroyed. My army descended upon the village and burned twenty dwellings there. They burned the fields of corn, peas, beans, melons, cucumbers, and potatoes, and the orchards of apples and peaches. They killed hogs, fowl, and horses. They killed the men, women, and children.”
At that moment, the stage was plunged into darkness.
Then, under dim lights, Skayendady and the other Seneca Indians took their places. As she played her role, Allie imagined being in the audience watching the scene unfold:
Skayendady joined the other women and girls, who were laughing and chatting, scraping hides, doing beadwork, hoeing the gardens, tending to their cooking fires, and soothing their babies. The warriors and hunters sat talking and joking in the peaceful morning.
A very young boy came onto the stage, smiled at Skayendady, and waved. He began to toss a lacrosse ball into the air and catch it in his stick.
Suddenly the clip-clop of many horses galloping filled the air. A trumpet sounded. Skayendady and the others, startled, looked up from their work and play. A shot rang out, then another, then many more. Several of the women fell to the ground.
Terrified screams tore through the air. Horses whinnied as soldiers surged onto the stage, firing their guns in deafening blasts. Some of them held torches. Smoke filled the stage as they set fire to buildings and plants and trees.
Warriors were shot before they could rise from their places on the ground to find their own weapons. Women and children fled, panicking, in all directions. The young boy ran toward a soldier who was setting fire to a house. The boy brought his lacrosse stick back over his shoulder, but before he could strike the soldier who was burning his home, another soldier raised his gun, aimed, and fired. The boy’s lacrosse stick fell from his hands as he crumpled to the ground.
Skayendady ran to the boy and fell to her knees beside him, cradling his head in her arms. A moan rose from her throat, grew louder, and became a keening wail. A man and a woman, choking from the smoke, tried to make their way through the chaos and confusion to their weeping daughter and lifeless son, and were cut down in midstride. Skayendady, seeing this, let out a last heartbroken cry before she, too, was shot. She died, her little brother in her arms.
Smoke drifted in wispy ribbons over the motionless bodies of the slain. There was no sound at all then except for the final moans of agony from the dying.
After a moment, General Sullivan stepped onto the stage, surveyed the scene, and nodded in satisfaction.
The lights went out, and the curtain fell.
Twenty-eight
Allie lay slumped on the stage in her death pose, her eyes closed, Michael’s head in her lap. Over the sound of her heart, which was beating like a war drum, she listened for a reaction from the audience. There wasn’t a whisper of sound in the huge theater, just a stunned silence. It was a disaster, she thought.
“Allie?” Michael whispered. “What happens now?”
“I don’t know, Mikey,” she answered shakily. Now that it was over, she felt frightened. She had no idea what might happen next.
Then Michael said, “Allie, look.”
She opened her eyes and saw the spectral form of Skayendady hovering over them. Her face, no longer streaked with soot and tears, appeared serene.
“She’s happy now,” Michael said, sounding happy himself.
“Yes,” Allie said. “I think she is.”
Skayendady’s lips moved, and Allie made out the word she spoke: “Skennon.” Peace.
As the vision slowly blurred and faded, Allie thought, Whatever happens next, it was worth it.
The silence from the other side of the curtain was broken by a soft shuffling. Puzzled, Allie lifted her head and listened intently. Strangely, it sounded to her like many people moving about with muffled footsteps. She heard the wail of a siren growing louder, then stopping.
Miss Lunsford rushed onto the stage, where the massacre victims lay sprawled in mock death. Her face glowed. “Bravo, everyone! Bravo!”
“But,” said Allie, feeling confused. “The audience—they’re so quiet. Did they—?”
Miss Lunsford interrupted her to say excitedly, “Just wait. I was watching their faces. They need a minute to take it all in, to sort out their emotions.” She paused, then smiled, saying, “There. Listen.”
Someone had begun to clap. Then others joined in and the applause quickly built until the walls of the huge old opera house resounded with a thunderous roar.
“Get up, everyone!” Miss Lunsford urged. “Get ready for your curtain call!”
Allie and Michael stood, joining the rest of the cast, who were trying to form themselves into a long line so they could take a group bow. Allie held on to Michael’s hand and reached out her other hand to Dub. But Janelle came over, stood beside her, and grasped her hand instead.
Allie squeezed Janelle’s hand and whispered, “Thank you.”
>
Dub, seeing Janelle and Allie standing together, smiled and took Michael’s other hand, and Brad, Joey, Pam, and Julie filled in beside him. Soon the entire cast was ready.
The curtain rose, and they all gasped in amazement. The applause was deafening. The crowd was on its feet. The houselights came on and, to Allie’s surprise, the first person she saw was Ronnie, standing right in the front. She was dressed in traditional Seneca finery, and was looking directly at Allie with tears in her eyes. Her smile was almost fierce.
Standing with her, filling both aisles, were other people from the Seneca nation, many of them also wearing their traditional garb, clapping with grave dignity. Seeing the moccasins on Ronnie’s feet, Allie understood the source of the quiet, shuffling steps she had heard. It had been Ronnie and her friends, stepping out of their seats to come forward.
Then she saw her mother and father, Dub’s parents, and Mr. Henry, all gazing at the stage, clapping along with the rest of the crowd. Out of the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of Karen Laver, the only person who remained seated, her arms crossed over her chest, her mouth shut in a tight line, her eyes narrowed in disgust.
Some people never change, Allie thought ruefully. She looked away. She wasn’t going to let Karen ruin this moment for her. Instead she smiled at Janelle, whose face was shining with pride and pleasure.
Some of the cast members called for Miss Lunsford and Uncle Hal to come out and take a bow. They did, standing with Allie and the others on the stage, and still the crowd kept clapping.
Allie didn’t know how long the applause might have gone on if an emergency medical crew hadn’t come running to the front of the theater, wanting to know who was injured.
Twenty-nine
After several moments of confusion, Uncle Hal took charge. He led the ambulance crew to the little room backstage where Mr. Kavanaugh lay. Then he joined Allie, a grin of amusement on his face.
“He’s going to be okay, right?” Allie asked.
The Ghost of Poplar Point Page 11