A Match for Celia

Though she felt rather foolish, Celia was relieved that he agreed with her so easily.

She was growing more anxious by the minute to get away from the Alexander resort, if only for the day.

The drive to San Antonio was a pleasant one. Comfortable. Reed had insisted that Celia bring along a lightweight jacket, knowing the unpredictability of that area in early November, but they quickly discovered that she didn’t need the extra warmth. The temperature was in the low eighties when they arrived, not much cooler than Padre Island. Celia laughed and declared that the weather was cooperating with her crusade to make sure Reed had fun on his birthday vacation.

She added that she was glad they’d gotten an early start. There was so much to do, she enthused. So many fascinating things to see.

Though he’d been to San Antonio quite a few times before for various reasons, Reed found himself viewing the city through Celia’s eyes, and felt almost as though he were really seeing it for the first time. At the Alamo, for example.

Many tourists were disappointed when they first saw the Alamo. Expecting an impressive structure in a true old-West setting, they found, instead, that the old mission was now shadowed on every side by hotels and shopping malls and tourist booths. The Alamo compound, bordered by a surprisingly low rock wall, contained a museum, a theater, a shrine and a souvenir shop stocked with Alamo key chains, drinking glasses, postcards and faux coonskin caps.

A sign outside the chapel everyone associated with the Alamo—the original mission San Antonio de Valero—requested that visitors enter quietly, in respect of those who’d died there. Inside, neatly lettered informational signs hung on the pocked walls, finger-smudged glass boxes held historical artifacts such as Davy Crockett’s razor and William Travis’s ring, and discreetly placed containers solicited donations from tourists for the maintenance of the grounds, for which the Daughters of the Republic of Texas received no state or government funding.

A uniformed park employee stood behind the reception desk to answer questions until the next scheduled historical lecture. Gawking tourists shuffled around the foot-polished rock floor and read the signs aloud. A tiny Japanese toddler dashed squealing through the main room, pursued by his embarrassed mother.

Reed had been one of those disappointed by his first visit to the landmark. This hadn’t looked to him at all like the place where John Wayne had led his fellow actors to a dramatic and glorious defeat in the movie; he’d later learned that the set of the movie still stood as a tourist attraction in Bracketville, Texas. Of course, Reed had only been a teenager still dazzled by that old movie the first time he’d visited the real Alamo. Now, as an adult, he felt more respect for this structure, built in 1758, that had served as such an important symbol since its bloody capture in 1836.

Realizing that he was suddenly standing alone in the center of the chapel, he looked around for Celia. He found her in front of the William Travis display case, reading the famous appeal for aid that Travis had written during his ill-fated stand against a Mexican army of thousands.

“‘I shall never surrender or retreat,’” she read in a low, husky voice when Reed moved to stand beside her. “‘Victory or death.’”

She looked up at him, then, and her blue eyes were brightened by a sheen of tears. “Can you imagine being so dedicated to a cause that you’re willing to die for it?” she whispered. “One-hundred-and-eighty-six men died here, because freedom meant more to them than life itself. They were true heroes, weren’t they?”

“And almost six hundred Mexicans died here believing they were preserving the glory of their own country,” Reed reminded her gently. “Many of them were just young soldiers with dreams and families and the duty to follow the orders they’d been given. They were no more anxious to die than the men inside these walls, and yet their names aren’t recorded here as brave heroes. Obviously, I support the cause of freedom, and greatly admire the courage of the men who died for it. But dehumanizing the enemy is one of the greatest evils of war, one we should always try to resist.”

Celia looked thoughtful. “I hadn’t considered it that way. We tend to view the great historical battles as good against evil, right against wrong. But it all comes down to individuals, doesn’t it?”

“This ‘history stuff’ can be pretty interesting, after all, can’t it?” he teased her gently.

She gave him a smile that made his head swim. “It is when I’m with you,” she said.

Reed was forced to clear his throat before he could speak again. “Ready to move on?”

After one last glance at the display case, Celia nodded. “I’m ready.”

Celia was disappointed to learn that Sea World was closed in November, even on weekends. “I would have liked to have seen Shamu,” she said with a sigh.

Reed fought an immediate impulse to try to arrange a special showing of the famed killer whale just for her. He couldn’t do that, of course, even if he wanted to—but for some reason he didn’t want to examine too closely, he hated to see her disappointed. “Maybe you’d like to go to Fiesta Texas

, instead?”

She looked intrigued. “What’s that?”

“An amusement park built into an old rock quarry. You know, rides and shows and arcade games and junk food. There’s a huge wooden roller coaster that’s supposed to be world class. Very popular place. Want to go?”

She seemed surprised at how easily he described the park. “I thought you said you’d never been to San Antonio.”

Reed tugged at his open shirt collar. “I’ve heard about it from friends.”

“Oh.” She considered the offer for a moment, then shook her head. “Why don’t we just explore San Antonio, instead?”

Reed was secretly relieved. Theme parks weren’t really his thing. And roller coasters inevitably made him queasy. Still, he would have ridden this one with Celia, if she’d asked. After seeing her tears in the Alamo, there was very little he could have denied her today.

“Damn it, Hollander, what are you doing?” he could almost hear his partner asking.

He wouldn’t have had a clue how to respond.

They spent the afternoon exploring two of the other old missions in the area—Mission Nuestra Señora de la Purisima Concepcion and Mission San Jose y San Miguel de Aquayo—and the Witte Museum, which closed for the day before they could begin to do justice to all the exhibits in it. They talked easily and at length about the artifacts they were seeing, Reed sharing his extensive knowledge of history, Celia asking questions and forming her own opinions about the stories he told. Despite her self-proclaimed disinterest in history, Reed could tell that she enjoyed the outing. She walked from one exhibit to another with avid, unflagging interest.