The Midnight Dancers: A Fairy Tale Retold (22 page)

She led them down the gentle slope to the beach that was visible from the house. The water wasn’t so deep on that side, and the tides were gentle, so the babies usually played there.  She pulled off their damp and sticky floured shirts and let them run around in shorts and diapers. Then she threw herself down in the crook of a massive tree root to brood and watch them. She looked across the water to the island. From this vantage point, she could see the house and the balcony. The portico where their nighttime dances were held wasn’t visible.

“Are you looking over there?” Becca asked, coming up beside her. Her younger sister had been working in the garden, and her denim skirt was dirty. “I heard you sigh.” Even though she was still only fourteen, Becca typically acted much older. Maybe she was just copying Prisca.

Rachel looked at her and winked, then sighed again for effect.

“I wonder what it’s like inside that house,” she murmured. “I wonder if we’ll ever see the inside.”

“He’s never invited us in,” Becca said, in the same low voice.

“Odd, isn’t it? And he’s so polite,” Rachel said. She cast a glance over the lawn, just to check. It was technically breaking her own rules to be talking like this, and she wanted to be prudent.

“He’s such a gentleman,” Becca said. “I broke one of my high heels the other night, and he offered to have it repaired for me, so Sallie and Dad wouldn’t find out.”

“You didn’t let him,” Rachel said, worried.

“No! Of course not. But it was sweet of him to offer,” Becca sighed. “I wish we could go there now.”

“Yes,” Rachel said. “Then we wouldn’t have to hide any more, would we?”

“Did you know that we’ll be short a boat tonight?” Becca asked.

Rachel looked quickly at her. “No. Why?”

“Kirk’s having to move in with his grandmother in West Virginia and help take care of her. He said goodbye to us last night when he dropped us off.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Rachel demanded, her insides sinking. “Darn it.”

Becca shrugged. “Well, he was getting to be a little tiresome. At least Tammy said he was. She’s interested in Dillon, now that Prisca’s dropped him.”

“Tell Tammy to leave him alone—he’s a pothead,” Rachel said, a bit brusquely. “Darn Kirk! Why couldn’t he have told us sooner?”

“I know. It’s so annoying.” Becca ran her hands through her overlong bangs with a roll of her eyes.

Feeling that she was being selfish, Rachel backtracked. “Well, I would have liked to say goodbye to him, at least. He was a nice guy, even if he was a little coarse.” Internally she considered. One less boat, true. But also, one less guy for her to worry about keeping content. Hence, possibly more time to spend with Michael…?

 “The juggling troupe is back,” Becca shot a glance over her shoulder. “Egads, they’re headed this way.”

“Look normal,” Rachel murmured, and Becca stifled a giggle.

“Paul must be sweating in that suit,” she said. “I can’t believe he dresses like that.”

Rachel looked at the trio. Linette and Debbie were cavorting on the lawn, turning cartwheels.  Paul was racing beside them, and suddenly turned a complete flip and a handspring. 

“Those black pants show off his legs, though,” Rachel said reflectively. 

Becca laughed. “Yes, he has a nice body. Too bad he’s such a geek.”

“Shush,” Rachel said sharply, a little taken aback at her younger sister. Plus, the trio was coming within earshot.

“Rachel,” Debbie cried, leaping over the tree roots and grabbing a branch above her. “Can I wear my juggling costume in the water or will it get ruined?”

“Yes, can we?” Linette chorused, coming up beside her and swinging on the branch too. Now that they were a theatrical act, the two girls were constantly mimicking each other, seeing how alike they could be.

Rachel looked at them critically. “The white blouses might be okay, but I wouldn’t risk it. The satin might get stained. I say go back and get in your swimsuits first, and then go swimming.”

The girls whined, but reluctantly swung down and started towards the house.  Paul remained behind. He was sweating, and had taken off his harlequin vest. In his full-sleeved white shirt and black pants, he looked more like a buccaneer than a jester.

“Hello ladies,” he said, nodding to them.

“How was the juggling today?” Rachel asked, perfunctorily.

“Good, thank you,” he said. “My earnings have increased significantly since I hired your sisters.”

“I hope you give them a fair cut.”

“We split three ways,” Paul said. “Chances are, they can do this next year on their own, if they keep up their practicing.”

“A whole new career,” Becca marveled, arching a mocking eyebrow at Rachel.

Paul inclined his head. “And you have me to thank for it.”

“Oh, thank
you
!” cried Becca.

They were both hoping he would go away, but instead he sat down on the tree roots a few feet from them.

“I’m trying to be downwind. I’m afraid I must really stink from the sweat,” Paul said apologetically.

“No, not at all,” Rachel said automatically. Becca gave a tiny sigh.

Rachel looked at the little boys, who were involved in poking sticks into the wet sand at the edge of the water.  “It’s a hot day today,” she commented.

“Yes. I wanted to tell you that your costumes are very comfortable for the girls, though,” Paul said. “I still can’t get over how good they are.”

“Thanks,” Rachel said.

“I wanted to ask you: have you ever thought of being a clothing designer?”

The girls laughed, but Rachel saw that Paul was apparently serious.

“I don’t think so,” she said, lowering her lashes.

“Well, you really are good,” he persisted.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Why not consider it?”

“There’s no way I would be allowed to.” This guy was frightfully naïve.

“Why not?” Paul looked from one to the other.

“It’s an evil profession!” Becca thundered. “A snare to the godly!” Rachel recognized that her sister was imitating a popular preacher whose audio series had made the round in their church.

“Oh, come on,” Paul said, rubbing his curly hair. “You girls don’t really believe that, do you?”

“St. Paul says that women should adorn themselves with proper conduct, with modesty, and self control, not with braided hair and gold ornaments or pearls or fine clothes, but rather, as befits women who profess reverence for God, with good deeds,” Becca informed him. “First Timothy two, verses nine and ten. Our Sunday school girls’ group is studying that passage.” She added self-righteously. “And that is why I never braid my hair.”

Paul shook his head. “Oh, come on. I never thought he meant that women couldn’t wear beautiful clothing. The inside is more important than the outside, obviously, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be concerned with your personal appearance.”

“I’ve got it,” Becca said, snapping her fingers. “Rachel, you could be a Christian clothing designer. You know, make Mennonite calico dresses and little caps, and eighteenth-century Quaker dresses with high collars—Sallie would love that. I bet Dad would set you up doing that.”

Rachel couldn’t control her snickers. “Don’t you dare mention it to him. If Paul tells him I should be a clothing designer, he’ll consider it a word from God and start the company for me.”

“Yes! And you could work from home—from right upstairs in the sewing room! And you could hire all of us!” Becca went on. They both convulsed with giggles.

Paul looked from one to the other. “That’s not what I meant,” he said. “I mean, why can’t you go to a regular design school and learn the trade, and then work in the regular fashion industry?”

Rachel shook her head. He was dense. “There’s no way. Dad would never pay for me to go to some school staffed with heathens and homosexuals. So save your breath.”

“I think you might be selling him short,” Paul said, after a pause.

Rachel felt a flicker of anger. “I know my father,” she said. “Maybe you were in the military with him, but I’ve lived with him all my life. You don’t know him the way I do.”

Paul persisted. “Can’t you tell him how you feel, what you really want to do? Don’t you think he’ll listen?”

Rachel stared at Paul incredulously.

Becca stated, “You must be crazy.”

Rachel said, “No, he’s not crazy.” She rubbed her forehead. “Paul, can you talk that way with your father?”

“Sure.” Paul was earnest. His brown eyes were big and round, like a perturbed puppy dog’s.

“Well, you’re a son, not a daughter. And your father is probably very different from my father,” Rachel said. “It’s not like that in our house.”

“You mean, if you were to tell him what you really thought and what you really wanted, he wouldn’t listen?”

“He couldn’t listen. It doesn’t even occur to him. If I did that, he would take it as defiance. And he’d probably throw me out of the house.” Rachel said evenly.

“So you don’t tell him what you really think, or what you really feel?”

Becca snorted and shook her head. “Are you kidding? If Rachel were to ever do that, I wouldn’t want to be around to see it.”

Rachel did not laugh. She responded quietly, “I do everything I can to avoid that kind of confrontation. He’s happier thinking that I’m living the way he would want me to live, and thinking the way he would want me to think.”

“And are you? And do you?”

Rachel couldn’t help laughing at him this time. “You can’t handle this, can you? Would you rather see me rebel? Show up at the dinner table in a miniskirt and start cursing everyone out?”

“Is that what you really want to do?”

“That’s certainly what I’ve felt like doing, sometimes.”

“But that wouldn’t be your real self, would it? After you get beyond the anger? What is it that you really want to do?”

“I don’t know,” she said distantly.

Paul looked down at his hands. “I guess I could never pretend to live out something I didn’t really believe in,” he said finally. “I would feel like a hypocrite.”

Burning inside, Rachel kept her voice calm. “And so maybe we are hypocrites. What else can we do?”

Paul was silent, and then he spoke, with effort. “You could start to believe in what you’re living.”

Becca rolled her eyes. But Rachel merely stared at him.

“You don’t know us. You don’t understand our life,” she said coldly, and added, “You should shut up now.”

Paul looked at the ground, silent. Then he picked up his colored vest, which he had left on the ground, and walked away.

“What a jerk,” Becca said beneath her breath.

Despite the chill in her heart, Rachel shook her head. “He just doesn’t understand.”

thirteen

Paul swam with the younger girls at the Durhams, then hiked back to his campsite and fell fast asleep for about two hours. He roused himself before evening, walked to town, bought a sandwich for dinner, and found a pay phone outside the deli. Using a phone card, he called home.

His younger sister answered the phone and said, “Hey, you’re not dead. Everyone’s been wondering how you’ve been doing.”

“I’m doing great, Annie. How’s everybody?”

“Oh, you know, doing the summer thing. Working jobs. Wishing we were on vacation.”

“Hey, is Dad there?”

“Yeah. Right here.”

“Dad?”

“Paul! I was just thinking about you this morning. How’s the life of a wandering juggler?”

“Oh, doing great. Very interesting. Actually, it’s the interesting part I wanted to talk to you about. I wanted to ask you for some parenting advice. Not for myself. Remember that colonel I mentioned to you? I’ve gotten to know him a bit down here, and he’s having some problems re-connecting with his daughters now that he’s back from his tour. I know you and my sisters always seemed to get along great despite your military absences, so I was wondering if you’d divulge any of your secrets to me, so I could pass them on to him.”

His father was surprised, and started with the usual disclaimer that he hadn’t been a perfect parent, and only could speak from his experience, but then went on to give some thoughts. Paul, who had his journal with him, scribbled down notes. They talked for a long time, and when he hung up, Paul felt he had at least a few things to suggest to Colonel Durham.