The Midnight Dancers: A Fairy Tale Retold Page 15

  Debbie punched him in delight. “You know, I wish we could do this on the—” she stopped, and looked at Linette.

  Paul dropped his eyes. “The island?”

  “You know, don’t you?” Linette whispered.

  “I know.”

  Debbie said, “I figured it out when I stepped on your foot a few nights ago. Why do you come?”

  “To watch out for you.”

  “Like you watched out for Melanie and me last night. That was great.”

  “Glad I happened to be around.”

  “I’m glad you’re there,” Debbie said, her voice still low. “But I don’t think Rachel would be if she knew. She’d probably think you were spying on us or something.”

  “Yeah,” Linette said positively. “So we can’t let on that we know you’re there.”

  “I knew you were with us every time we went to the island,” Debbie bragged. “That’s why I’m not afraid. Even of Michael. He’s a chameleon.”

  “A what?” Paul asked.

  “A chameleon. He changes his skin. He just pretends to be nice. I don’t like him. But Rachel’s in love with him.”

  Caught unawares, Paul stared at his hands, his hands that until that moment had seemed very capable. All the reflex training in the world couldn’t keep you from being outmaneuvered by life.

  “Did Dad ask you to protect us?” Debbie asked, and Paul was startled again at how intuitive she was. “I think it’s a great idea.”

  “Your dad wants to protect you,” Paul said. “Have you girls ever considered telling him what you’re up to?”

  Debbie stared at him. “He’d never let us go back,” she said.

  “You’re probably right.”

  “I don’t care if he knows,” Linette said with a yawn. “I’m tired.”

  “But we promised our sisters we wouldn’t tell,” Debbie said seriously. “Not unless we all agree to tell Dad.”

  Paul kept back a sigh. It would be so easy to put pressure on Debbie to tell, but his goal required that he not do even that. Instead, he said, “Why don’t you talk to your sisters then?”

  Debbie looked at him as though he were crazy. “Why don’t you catch this?” she demanded, and tossed two clubs at him.

  “Two clubs are easy!” he said, quickly reaching and grabbing them and tossing them up.

  “What about four?” she shot back, tossing more at him.

  “Six!” Linette threw her own clubs into the mix.

  “Hey!” he protested as both girls dissolved into giggles.

  “Well, hello there!” a familiar voice called. “You must be the new juggling troupe I’ve heard so much about!” Colonel Durham was grinning at them as he approached. He was still in his shirt and tie from his office job.

  The girls jumped to their feet, a bit guiltily. Debbie shouted, “Dad!” and gave him a quick hug. He patted her head a little absently.

  “I’ve been hearing about you already,” he told Paul. “People at the gate were talking about the juggling girls.”

  “I knew they would be great,” Paul said simply.

  “Good insight,” Colonel Durham said. And looking at the girls, he added, “And good work, you two!”

  He tousled Linette’s hair and said, “I want to talk to your teacher for a moment. How about you two girls run off and get me two cones of cotton candy?”

  “Sure!” the girls raced off. “We can buy it ourselves—we’ve got money!” Debbie yelled over her shoulder, and he chuckled.

  “You’ve done wonders with those two,” he said. “Channeled a lot of their restless energy. Think you can do that with the older girls?”

  “They won’t juggle,” Paul said positively. “I can tell you that much.”

  “I suppose you’re right. I wanted to ask you how things were going with your—mission.”

  Paul met his eyes and was silent for a moment. “It’s…going.”

  “Is that all you can tell me?”

  He nodded. “I’m sorry. I wish I could say more. I hope you’re praying.”

  The older man sighed in frustration. “I am. But you know, prayer is never enough for me. I keep thinking I need to do something, when I guess I should be letting go and letting God.”

  Paul thought rapidly. “Actually, there are some things you can do,” he said slowly.

  “What?”

  “Just positive things you can do for the girls. To build their trust in you. Well, like showing them more affection—like you just did with Debbie and Linette. And—how about this—would you mind if I ask my dad? See if he has any advice? I can let you know what he says later. Is that okay?” He saw the two girls approaching with the cotton candy.

  “That sounds fine.”

  “Great.”

  “Daddy, here’s your cotton candy,” Debbie said proudly. “I got you green and purple.”

  “And I got you orange and yellow,” Linette said.

  “Why thank you,” Colonel Durham said, taking the cones. Debbie looked at him expectantly.

  “Daddy,” Debbie said. “Cotton candy’s not good for your blood pressure, right?”

  “Or for yours, most likely,” Colonel Durham said. “You’re right. You can have it.”

  “Hooray!” Debbie cheered, and took a mouthful of hers. But Linette’s face fell.

  “I picked out these colors because I thought you would like them,” she objected.

  Colonel Durham looked uncomfortable for a moment, and Paul said quickly, “Actually, I’ve never tasted orange and yellow cotton candy. Can I have some?”

  “Okay,” Linette said slowly.

  Colonel Durham said awkwardly, “How about this, Paul. I’ll split it with you. I’m very fond of lemon.”

  “That’s why I picked it,” she muttered, but she looked a bit less put out.

  Paul picked out a handful of cotton candy, and ate it. “It’s quite good,” he said.

  Colonel Durham agreed. “Thank you, Linette. I think I’ll eat this on my way back,” he said.

  “Don’t you want to see us juggle?” Debbie demanded.

  “Of course!” Colonel Durham caught himself. He sat down. “Go ahead, impress me!”

  So the girls and Paul picked up their clubs and did their routine. When they were finished, Colonel Durham clapped heartily.

  “I barely recognize you,” he said. “You’re real jugglers.”

  “You better pray we keep doing well,” Debbie said. “When you pray.”

  “I will, and I’ll stop by again,” Colonel Durham promised, turning to go. Then he paused and kissed her on the forehead and patted Linette’s cheek. “You two are doing a splendid job.”

  The girls grinned, and Paul said, “Okay, back to work.” He was glad Colonel Durham had stopped by. He has a chance of keeping these two, he thought to himself. If only he can learn, somehow, to connect with the others.

  And Paul was convinced that Colonel Durham’s connecting with Rachel would be the key. But now, that looked like it would be harder than ever.

  Rachel chewed her lip and fretted. This morning, she had some free time to work on her dress, but problems were cropping up again. She had wanted to make spaghetti straps out of the black satin, but the cheap fabric buckled and rebelled. It refused to be made into such a tiny tube. She groaned and decided to try narrow tab straps to hold up the bodice. She had already pieced together a lining from the black satin and inserted a black zipper. Now she tenderly unwrapped the tiny package of her precious expensive silk bodice material.

  Fine material was a joy to work with, and she hand-sewed the glittering silver knit onto the bodice with fervor. The skirt would take her a bit longer, but the bodice would soon be done.

  While she pierced the fabric with the needle and drew it out again repetitiously, her mind turned over and over what she had come to call the Boat Problem.

  Now that they had started going to the island, the girls’ center of gravity had shifted subtly from the church guys, as they called them, and their bo
ats as the source of entertainment, to the island. The boats owned by the guys had gone from being the main attraction to a mere conveyance. Rachel recognized this, and saw that unless the sisters could convince the guys that they were still valued friends, the sisters were in danger of losing the boats, and with that, the island.

  Of course, she reasoned, if that happened, perhaps Michael might offer to come and get them in some of his own boats. But he had never offered, and she couldn’t help feeling that if he did, the girls would become too dependent upon him and his hospitality.

  In a special meeting with the older girls, Rachel had tried to convey the importance of keeping Rich, Alan, Keith, Pete, Kirk, and Taylor as friends. Miriam, who was good friends with Pete, didn’t object, and neither did Cheryl, who was by now falling hard for Taylor, but the other girls took some convincing. The twins were intrigued by the friends of Michael and were beginning to wish the other guys, particularly Keith, would just go away.

  “Not Keith—he has a boat,” Rachel had said hastily.

  “Okay, then you dance with him sometime,” Tammy had said, hands on her hips. “He’s such a clingy person. He’s really getting to be boring.”

  Rachel sensed that if she did that, it might cause more problems. Before she had met Michael, she had paid more attention to the other guys, and had sensed that several of them were hanging around, waiting for her to notice them. Now that I’m hooked on this other man, they can hardly be happy, she thought bleakly.

  She resolved to spend more time with their guy friends, and during the next few nights on the island, she had tried to spread herself among them, being cheerful and attentive, listening to them and sympathizing. Of course, this meant she had less time to give to Michael, and that pained her. Michael, however, seemed to understand, or at least not be offended, and she was grateful for that.

  But what she really wanted was to have time alone with Michael, more time to get to know him. There was so much that was mysterious about him.

  “Rachel!” Sallie’s voice broke into her thoughts, and she pricked herself with the needle. Hastily she put her finger in her mouth and rolled the bodice into a soft ball and thrust it back into the plastic bag with the remnants of the jugglers’ costumes. “Yes?”

  Sallie was coming upstairs. “Could you take the boys down to the water to play? They’re driving me crazy and the girls and I are trying to bake bread.”

  Rachel thrust the bag back into its hiding place and hurried downstairs, feeling her usual sulkiness at being interrupted.

  Downstairs it was sweltering. I don’t know why Sallie insists on baking bread in this heat, she thought to herself. A pity Miriam and Cheryl had to endure it. Miriam was sweating profusely while working on kneading rolls on the kitchen table, and Cheryl looked peeved as well. Jabez and Robbie had flour all over their shirts. Apparently they had been “helping.” She ducked through the kitchen, took each of her brothers by one hand and led them outside. The sun was hot, but at least there was the bay breeze.

  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.”