The Midnight Dancers: A Fairy Tale Retold (The Fairy Tale Novels)

by Regina Doman

  She wished she could get two sweet dresses for the younger girls as well, something still girlish and not too alluring. Part of her regretted that Debbie and Linette had found out about the secret. They were really too young, even though Debbie was a tremendous flirt in her Sunday school class, attracting and casting off boys like an unusually pugnacious flower. No doubt she was more interested in Paul and his juggling than in any boy near her age.

  “Rachel,” Cheryl’s voice called. Rachel groaned and rolled over in the hammock, wishing she had stayed asleep. The insistent note meant she was needed for something. She closed her eyes until her stepsister was standing right by the hammock, shaking her by the shoulder.

  “What?” Rachel moaned pathetically.

  “Mom wants you. You’re supposed to make bread today. For the Sabbath.”

  “A pox on the Sabbath day,” Rachel murmured.

  Cheryl, shocked, said reprovingly, “You really shouldn’t say that.”

  Rachel opened one eye and saw Cheryl’s hand hanging down by her side, holding a book, her finger keeping her place. It was an older cloth-covered volume with scrolled black writing and an ominous title: Babylon Mystery Religion. Beneath the words was a lithograph of a rather crude statue of a woman holding a baby.

  “What are you reading?” she asked.

  “One of mom’s books. It’s all about the Roman Church.”

  “You mean the Catholic Church?”

  “It’s not really a church, Rachel. It’s a satanic system. See the statue on the front? Doesn’t it look like the statue of the Virgin Mary with Jesus you see in Catholic churches? But it’s actually a statue of the Babylonian goddess Ishthar with her son, Nimrod the sun god. She was the moon goddess. Catholics are really just pagans under another name, worshipping the sun and moon.”

  Rachel regarded the suggestive title with some amusement. “So Paul is an agent of Satan, trying to get us to…worship idols or something?”

  “I hope not,” Cheryl said, her eyes worried. “This book is old, Rachel, and Mom said it’s still in print. It’s possible that not everything that it says is true, but there’s so much the author says that you just can’t argue with. It’s actually frightening.”

  “Cheryl, you read too much,” Rachel blew her hair out of her eyes. “Just because a book is in print doesn’t mean anything. I mean, isn’t the Satanic Bible old? And that’s probably still in print.” She was irritated and got to her feet.

  But as she stalked towards the house, she couldn’t help casting a furtive glance in Paul’s direction, picturing him as Cheryl’s agent of the devil, horns sprouting out of his short-cropped curly hair. The picture didn’t fit. Everything about Paul screamed “Wholesome.” What a simply tremendous disguise, she marveled sarcastically. You would never guess.

  Paul turned a full somersault and landed near her on the grass, breathless. He was sweating in the hot summer sun. A silver medal bounced on a chain around his neck, along with a couple of strings. Wiping his forehead, he picked up the medal, untangled it from the strings, and tucked it back under his shirt. When he turned he seemed to become aware of her presence and startled.

  “Sorry, didn’t see you there,” he murmured.

  Rachel raised an eyebrow. “What’s that around your neck?” she asked.

  “Oh, that. Just a medal, and a cross, and a scapular. They tend to get all tangled when I’m tumbling.”

  “What kind of medal? For bravery?” she pursued. Debbie giggled behind Paul’s back.

  “Heck no. Not that kind of medal, just a Catholic thing.” He held out the medal. “It’s got a picture of Mary on it.”

  She looked, but could barely make out a figure of a woman on it. To step closer would mean stepping closer to a tall, sweating man, and she was too aware of Paul’s masculine presence to do that. “Hm! Pretty.”

  “What’s the string thing?” Debbie wanted to know.

  “A scapular. Here—wait, I’ll take it off. Sorry, it’s pretty soaked. It’s made of wool.”

  Paul held out a strange contraption, two brown felt squares dangling at the ends of two rather dirty brown strings. Another medal also hung on the string.

  “What’s it for?” Debbie demanded, taking it. Rachel cast a glance at it, and saw that embroidered on the felt was a woman holding a baby, remarkably similar to the Babylonian goddess on Cheryl’s book. She felt an odd twinge in her stomach.

  “It’s a sign of my devotion to the Mother of Christ,” Paul said, and held out his hand. Debbie gave it back, and he put it quickly to his lips then pulled the loop of string over his shoulders so one square hung down in the back and the other on the front. He tucked both back under his shirt. The girls all watched him with interest, not knowing what to make of this.

  “Imagine, a pagan in our midst,” Rachel said to Cheryl as they strolled to the house.

  “I can’t believe it—did you see that? Just like in the book!” Cheryl said in wonder. “He was kissing it like it was an idol.”

  “Cheryl,” Rachel switched topics, “do you want to go to town with me?”

  “What for?”

  “Let’s see if your mom wants us to go to the grocery store. I feel a sudden urge for a new dress.”

  That night, none of the girls wanted to be caught unawares again. If there were going to be boys on the beach, the girls were going to make the most of the opportunity. Rachel woke them up a bit sooner, and they pattered about upstairs for a bit, getting together a few essentials, which took so long that Rachel became impatient and shooed them all down the steps, despite protests.

  In the cave, Prisca and Liddy pulled out the chest of dresses from against the wall. They had spent the afternoon clearing out the cave and stacking bikes against the wall so that there was considerably more room. “We tried to get one dress for everybody,” Prisca said. “There’s at least fourteen here, but I’m not sure who will fit into what.”

  Taren exclaimed in dismay, “But some of these are so old! And out of style! You expect us to see boys in these?”

  “Take your pick—the dresses or your PJs,” Prisca said briskly. “Or perhaps you’d rather get back into one of your ultra-cool denim jumpers?”

  “Then at least give me the dark blue one. It will look black,” Taren begged.

  “But that’s the one I picked out for Rachel!” Prisca objected.

  “Whatever,” Rachel shrugged. “I’ll wear the green one. I don’t care. I’m saving up my money to buy a new dress anyhow.” She and Cheryl had made a quick trip to a fashion-clothing store to investigate styles and prices, and the lowest priced outfit was at least $60.

  The statement seemed to inspire the girls. “Yeah, I’m going to save up my money too!” Liddy exclaimed, buttoning up a periwinkle blue dress that had once been Sallie’s.

  “We can get whatever kind of dress we want, can’t we?” Becca said. “There is this adorable purple dress I’ve been longing to get, but I’m sure Sallie and Dad would say it’s too short.”

  “I didn’t see anything I cared for at the store,” Cheryl announced, putting on a pink flounced sundress that had been in the costume box for years, still relatively intact. “I’m probably just going to buy some fabric and make a dress.”

  “Make a dress? How are you going to get away with that?” Tammy demanded.

  “I’ll sew when Mom’s downstairs, or out at a meeting. If we take turns watching, we can get a lot of dresses made that way,” Cheryl said. “I want something long and flowing and lacy and maybe white.”

  Rachel rolled her eyes as she got into the green dress Prisca had worn last night. It was a bit snug, but she could still fit in it.

  “Hello?” said Miriam. “This dress is not my size, not even if I were half of what I am.”

  In the end, dresses were switched, modified, and taken on and off at least six times before all of them pronounced themselves at least temporarily satisfied.

  “Gosh, we don’t have any time,” Prisca said. “I’m going to do my
makeup now, quick!”

  Rachel had already done hers upstairs in the bedroom, and now strolled outside the cave in her mom’s old green dress. In the moonlight, you couldn’t tell what color it was. She sidled down to the beach in her bare feet—she didn’t have any shoes appropriate to the dress—and folded her legs under her, awaiting the boats.

  The moon was an oval tonight, voluptuous and silver, and its reflection danced on the waves. Rachel had mulled over the problem of what to wear for a long time. Their church held that only modest dresses were appropriate for women and girls, as pants were men’s attire and unfitting for females. Rachel privately thought this was insanity. The more moderate parents in the church allowed their teenage daughters to wear nice jeans and tops on some occasions. Perhaps she should spend her money on getting a nice pants outfit—but no. She had a good figure, and she was a girl, after all, and she wanted to make the most of it. A dress—not a homely plain dress, but a really cool dress—that was what she wanted.

  Dresses to dance in, she thought. With short skirts skimming the thighs or swinging about the knees, and flirtatiously short sleeves or no sleeves at all. Somehow or other, she wanted to find a way to go dancing, in the darkness and warmth of summer nights.

  There was a faint roar, and she saw the boats coming, and felt that breathless anticipation. Just for the fun of it, she put a hand in the bay water and ran it through her hair, so that it would glisten in the moonlight.

  Three boats tonight—Taylor’s, Alan’s, Keith’s. Rich and Pete were sitting in Taylor’s boat. Thankfully, Taylor remembered to cut the engines before moving in closer, and called to Alan to turn off his. Alan pulled out a paddle and started maneuvering his overlarge open fishing boat towards the willows. Seeing Rachel, he started pretending to sing an Italian boating song, which the other guys picked up. The other sisters, hearing the motors, ran down to the beach, skidding down the sandy bank in their dresses, laughing and shushing each other.

  As before, the boys edged their boats beneath the overhanging willows and tied them to the trunk.

  “Man, are you girls going to a party or something?” Taylor asked, seeing the girls all decked out.

  Rachel shrugged. “Are you bringing us to one?”

  “We brought the party with us!” Alan cracked, pulling out a pack of cigarettes.

  “Of course you did,” Prisca said. “Rachel, Alan is our own personal party.”

  Taylor shot a glance over his shoulder and lowered his voice, “I did bring some drinks.”

  “Really?” Rachel said, “You mean, alcohol?”

  “I mean beer. Is that all right?”

  Rachel considered swiftly. “It’s fine with me if you guys drink,” she said as she thought, rapidly sifting through her sisters’ potential reactions. “Don’t let the little girls have any. And you know we’re all dead if our dad finds empty cans on the beach.”

  “Sure. Want one?”

  “Maybe later. Thanks.” Rachel had to gauge the risk. She had never had a beer herself, though she suspected she would enjoy one. However, didn’t alcohol stay on the breath? The last thing she wanted was Sallie getting a whiff of something on one of the girls—that would be a dead giveaway. It was clear that Rachel would have to have a meeting with the girls and decide on rules for these types of situations ahead of time. Making decisions on the fly like this increased the risk dangerously.

  She decided the best tactic would be to prevent the guys from breaking out the beers right away. “But first,” she said, “can you bring us all out for a ride? I’m dying to get out on the water.”

  The other girls chorused agreement and Taylor said, “Sure. Who’s with me?”

  Rachel, Cheryl, Debbie, and Linette chose to go with Taylor. The other sisters quickly clustered around their choices—Tammy and Taren were angling in on Keith and Rich, and went in Keith’s boat with Becca and Liddy.

  Prisca had attached herself to Alan tonight, and Miriam went along with her and Pete (“Partly to keep Pete from getting ticked off at Prisca,” Miriam said beneath her breath to Rachel. “Man, she’s a flirt!”), and Brittany and Melanie, the odd two out, went along for the ride.

  Getting into the boats in the dark of the willows was tricky, and it was a difficult fit. “Sorry it’s a little crowded,” Taylor said regretfully, gunning the motor and they cruised out into the bay.

  “That’s all right,” Rachel said over the noise of the engine. She looked behind her. Cheryl sat in the back, an arm around each of the little sisters. Rachel noticed that Cheryl’s face, which had been guardedly concerned since beer was mentioned, looked far more relaxed. Rachel smiled at her, took a deep breath and turned her face ahead into the night wind.

  They rode for a while over the waves, and then Taylor said, “Where do you want to go now?”

  Rachel looked over to the midnight jewel in the center of the bay. “Take us to the island,” she cried over the noise of the motor.

  Taylor cast a glance at the island and said, “What? You want to go on there? You’re crazy. It’s private.”

  “Yeah, but who’s ever there?” she challenged.

  “Why do you want to go there?”

  “Just because it’s there,” she said mischievously. “Come on, take us there.”

  Taylor didn’t look too happy at the thought. “We could get in real trouble.”

  Rachel pulled back. “Why not just ride around it and see if anyone’s home?” she suggested. “If someone’s there, there’ll be a boat in the dock.”

  “Or a helicopter in the heliport,” Taylor said, dubiously.

  “A helicopter?”

  “Yeah. You can’t see it from your side of the bay, but there’s a heliport on the other side of the island. That’s how the rich people get on and off.”

  “Oh. Shoot.” Rachel hadn’t considered this.

  “Well, I’ll drive around it,” Taylor said. “It’s pretty big.”

  He made a wide circle around the island. Rachel eagerly scanned the coastline, taking in new images of the island. The further side revealed more of the house, a lovely mansion lifting a stone-and-timber face to the ocean. The sight took Rachel’s breath away. She put her chin on her hand and drank it in. It would be beyond her dreams to actually enter a house like that. She didn’t dare to think much about that, not yet.

  Taylor pointed out the heliport, a swath of flat green grass where the trees had been carefully shaved back.

  “It’s empty,” Rachel said hopefully.

  “Yes,” Taylor said. But Rachel could see that it wouldn’t be prudent to push him farther tonight. She had made the suggestion, and she would let it sink in.

  They counted four boats in the dock, but they were all covered with canvas, a sign that they were not being used. “If they weren’t coming back, they’d be stored on dry land, though,” Taylor commented. Rachel had to agree.

  “Look!” she said, and pointed to a flat stone dock on the far side of the island. Trees lined it, and there were no lights nearby. But in the moonlight, she could see a flat stone portico, obviously a receiving area. Stone steps led up to the house.

  “It’s another dock,” Taylor said, oblivious to the implications. Rachel decided to remain silent about those. She would ease him into her plan. She had seen in a moment—it was a perfect outdoor dance floor.

  “We have to go there,” she said beneath her breath. It was going to happen. She could taste it.

  six

  “Rachel.”

  Rachel winced at her father’s voice and looked up sharply.

  “Yes?”

  “I talked to Mrs. Pearson at church yesterday, and she said she could use some help over at the parsonage on Monday afternoon. I told her that you and some of your sisters would go over there today to help serve her.”

  Rachel cringed. Mrs. Pearson was the pastor’s wife, and she almost always needed someone to help serve her. “But we were going to take the little girls and boys to go to the Andrews’ pool this afternoon!”
she objected. “Sallie said it was okay.”

  “I’m sorry you’ve made other plans, but I think the needs of the church come before our personal desires, don’t you?”

  Rachel murmured something incomprehensible.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear what you said.”

  “I didn’t say anything,” Rachel said defiantly. “Nothing worth repeating.”

  Her father looked over at her. “It shouldn’t take too long. You know how difficult it is to be a pastor’s wife. She needs our support.”

  Rachel nodded, and turned back into the other room. “Yes, but does she need my personal support?” she asked bitingly in her mind.

  “The problem is, our family has no life outside of this church,” she said aloud as she came into the basement, hauling a load of laundry.

  “Tell me about it!” Prisca agreed. “My gosh, it’s like we’re enslaved to this group of people.”

  “The pastor’s personal slaves,” Miriam minced words. “If there’s a job to be done—‘oh, call those Durhams. He’s got plenty of kids—he can spare a few!’”

  “‘Your daughters are so capable,’” Rachel quoted, pressing her hands to her breast. “‘They have been such a blessing to our church.’”

  She was referencing the last church anniversary, where the pastor’s wife had stood up before the congregation and praised the Durham family. The girls had been singled out as models of hard work and zeal for God, which had thoroughly embarrassed them, mostly because Rachel thought it wasn’t true.

  “They don’t know anything about us,” she said. “For all of the ‘sharing’ and ‘testifying’ that goes on, they don’t really know what any of us likes, or wants, or cares about.”

  Prisca tittered. “If they found out what we really wanted, they wouldn’t like us very much, would they?”

  Rachel gave a bitter smile. “No, I doubt they would.” She had been around the parents enough to overhear their gossip about teenagers in the congregation that were perceived as ‘rebellious.’ “They’d hold us at arm’s length,” she said. Another thought occurred to her, and she went on grimly. “They’d start to think less of Dad and Sallie, too. They’d start out saying, ‘Poor Colonel Durham. Such a heart for God, but his daughters are out of control,’ and then they’d start carefully disconnecting themselves from him and Sallie. They’d pity them,” she spoke the last words distastefully.