The Midnight Dancers: A Fairy Tale Retold

by Regina Doman

  They had pulled it off.

  three

  Paul reached the campgrounds after a long but carefree walk from the bus station. He paid the fee, and started to get settled in on his vacation. He wasn’t thinking about anything in particular, just relishing the sweet taste of freedom. His doctor had declared him fully recovered from his war injury. Medical school didn’t begin till the fall. So his tour was done, school was yet to start, and within this brief window, he could do as he pleased.

  Trimming expenses to the absolute minimum meant that he had decided to go without a car for the summer. He had packed everything he needed into his backpack and the large colorful bag that held his juggling gear.

  He took a bit of time to pick a campsite, and finally chose one within reach of the Bay, but sheltered from the constant breezes that swept over the waters. Clearing the ground and pitching his tent were done in the same leisurely fashion. When everything was arranged, he settled down on a fallen log and just sat for a while, feeling no inclination to move or do anything but be still.

  This was his holiday, his treat before starting medical school, and he rejoiced within its limits. He planned to spend the next several weeks camping, hiking, and doing some stints as a street musician and juggler at the Maryland Colonial Festival. Entertaining would pay for the campsite and some food for the next few weeks. If not, he could always ask his parents or one of his seven siblings for money to see him through, but he hoped he wouldn’t need to fall back on that.

  He started to whistle and picked up a stick, tossing it gently from hand to hand, planning a new tune for his flute. While he had to make time to practice his juggling routine for the festival, which started next week, for now, he could relax. He decided to start with a walk on the beach, maybe go for a swim.

  So after tidying up his campsite, he walked down to the beach that bordered the campgrounds. The bay curved around him, and he looked with satisfaction at the green shore stretching out into the distance on either side of him. A few miles down the beach to the left were houses, but to his right the trees came right down to the water, and the land jutted out into a promontory on the bay. There was a house up there: he could see its chimneys through the trees. They must have a beautiful view of the surrounding bay.

  He started down the beach to the left, enjoying the brisk breezes. After a while he broke into a jog.

  The beach ahead was mostly deserted, but as he jogged on, he saw an older man walking in his direction wearing khakis and a windbreaker. As Paul drew near, the man paused and looked out at the bay. There was something familiar about him. When Paul was close enough, he thought he recognized him.

  “Excuse me—Colonel Durham?”

  The colonel turned, and his troubled expression was replaced with surprise. “That’s right.” He brightened up. “Corporal—what was your name? Jester?”

  “Fester,” Paul said with a grin.

  “That’s right,” the man said, shaking Paul’s hand warmly. “How’s your leg doing?”

  “Doing really well,” Paul said. “How about your arm?”

  The colonel lifted his arm. “It’s OK. My back’s a little stiff, but that would happen just by getting old,” he said. “It almost doesn’t count. But I’m working a desk job now. No more work overseas. My wife is grateful. So what are you doing now?”

  “For the next few weeks, I’ll be at the Colonial Festival.”

  The colonel snapped his fingers. “That’s right. Fester, jester. You juggle. I remember now. So what are you doing after that? You thinking of staying in the army?”

  “Well, at least to get through medical school,” Paul said. “I start in the fall. It’s the only way I could afford to go.”

  “Take my advice: don’t stay in if you get married.”

  “Why do you say that, sir?”

  The colonel looked out at the bay. “Too hard on the family. I’ve been in the army since I was nineteen. I’ve been on tour a lot. It’s always tough for the family, but you know, we worked through it. Even after I got married again, everything seemed okay. But coming back this time, it’s been different. It’s like I don’t know my kids and they don’t know me. I’m wondering if I paid too high a price.”

  After a moment, Paul said, “My dad was military too. He was a captain, in the Marines. We moved around a lot, until he retired a few years ago in Chicago. I don’t know what he did differently, but you know, it was okay with us kids. I’m really proud of him.”

  He noticed the colonel was studying him. “Did you get along with your parents when you were a teenager?”

  “Me? I did, I guess. I mean, we had a pretty open relationship.”

  “You’d tell them what was going on in your life?”

  “Sure. Well, sometimes I wanted my own space, but yeah, I’d talk to them a lot.”

  “It’s a mystery to me how that happens,” Colonel Durham said. “I can’t get my girls to talk to me at all. And they’ve been very—secretive lately.”

  “Maybe they’re just getting to know you again,” Paul ventured. “It takes time.”

  The colonel shook his head. “There’s something going on with them,” he said positively. “I can tell they’re hiding something. The odd thing is that it’s all of them: from the oldest right down to the youngest ones.”

  “Have you asked them about it?”

  “Sure. Flat denial, all down the line. Sallie’s asked them about it. Nothing. We finally just let it go, but I can’t get the idea out of my head that they’re up to something. I’ve been trying other tactics, but I’m up against a wall.” He sighed heavily. “I have no idea what else I can do.”

  “Maybe it’ll come out, in time,” Paul said. “Maybe they’ll tell you.”

  Again, Colonel Durham shook his head. “You don’t know my daughters,” he said positively. He seemed to change the subject. “Would you like to come to dinner, now that you’re in town?”

  “That would be great.”

  “How about tonight?”

  Paul was taken aback. “Sure. If it’s no trouble.”

  “No, no, it’s fine.” Colonel Durham said. “Besides, I’d like you to meet my girls. I’m sure you’ll have a lot in common.” He pointed up the beach in the direction from which Paul had come. “Our house is right up there. But you can reach it by the road as well. Will 5:30 work for you?”

  “I’m free,” Paul said, grinning. It was good to be on vacation.

  “Rachel, look. That must be him, coming up the drive,” Prisca said, pushing aside the linen curtains with one finger.

  “The new guy that Dad invited?” Rachel rolled her eyes, casting a glance at the other three older sisters sitting in the sewing room, where they were sorting laundry. “I bet he’s another spy.”

  “Dad said he’s staying at the campsite near our house,” Miriam said.

  They all studied the newcomer surreptitiously as he came up the drive.

  “What a goofball,” Rachel said. “Will you look at those clothes? Who wears striped shirts these days?”

  Tammy craned her neck. “So what, Rachel? He’s got a nice set of muscles.”

  Her twin, Taren, agreed after a judicious look. “Plus a rather nice face, from what I can see. Kind of cute.”

  “He looks too clean cut. Like a grown-up baby. No thanks! How much you want to bet he’s an upright young Christian man?” Rachel pronounced mockingly. “Dad would never invite over someone from the military unless he was a nice young man. A very nice young man.” The others stifled giggles.

  Prisca said beneath her breath, “Who cares? At least he’s a man.” Which generated more mirth from everyone except Rachel.

  “Whatever.” She sat down again, grabbed a fistful of socks, and began turning them over and laying them down one by one, looking for matches as though she were playing solitaire. “Well, he’s here, and we’re going to have to put up with him now.”

  After the others left to deliver laundry or spy on the visitor, Rachel deliberately to
ok her time in front of the mirror, putting up her hair. She was tired. Part of the secret pact, as she thought of it, was that when the sisters went out on one of their midnight adventures, no one was allowed to complain about being tired the next day, so as not to arouse suspicion. The sisters had taken to going to bed earlier, and snatching naps for themselves during the day (getting up later was not an option in the Durham family). Today had been a no-nap day for Rachel. At the moment she wasn’t feeling up to another outing tonight.

  Still, swimming at night was so relaxing. And she had laid other plans, if only they would work out. Maybe tonight they would… Rachel chewed the end of her fingertip and cursed inwardly when she heard the doorbell.

  Paul liked to approach people of any sort with a bold and friendly demeanor. However, when he had rounded the curve of the hidden driveway and saw the Durham house, he felt as though he had gone out of his league.

  The large, obviously historical house sat on a promontory of land that jutted out into the bay. Three brick chimneys protruded from its weathered tile roof. This was the house Colonel Durham had pointed out to Paul earlier that morning on the beach. Paul guessed that the Durhams must own all the woodlands extending down to the campsite, and probably the beach running around the promontory as well. A low whistle escaped him, and he felt a sudden humility. This was a far cry from his parent’s house in the Chicago suburbs. Oh great, he said under his breath, feeling apprehensive.

  When he knocked on the door, it had been opened by, as he expected, a girl. This girl was about twelve years old, strikingly pretty, with bright blue eyes and long dark brown hair, wearing a skirt printed with small blue flowers and a white shirt. “Hi,” said the girl, with a bright and careless attitude. “What do you want?”

  Maybe she thought he was a landscaping assistant or a deliveryman. Paul asked, following the script, “Uh, is your father home?”

  “Sure. Let me get him.” She bounced off, swinging her arms. Paul could see a flagstone interior, and a simply furnished period style entranceway. He swallowed, and looked down again at his canvas shorts and striped shirt. He hadn’t expected to be invited to anyone’s house for dinner while on vacation, let alone to a house as upscale as this one.

  Another brown haired girl came into the entranceway, wearing a denim jumper and pulling her hair up into a ponytail. She had a wide-eyed, faintly surprised expression. “Are you the guy who’s coming to dinner?” she asked.

  “Um, yes.”

  “Daddy said you were coming. I’ll go get him,” and she turned away and clattered up the stairs in sandaled feet.

  “That’s okay…” Paul tried to say, and gave up. He thrust his hands into his pockets and took them out again, unsure of how to look.

  Then suddenly Colonel Durham was striding into the entranceway, beaming and smiling, trailed by the pretty younger girl. Seeing Paul on the doorstep, he took the girl’s shoulders and said, “Debbie, we don’t let our guests stand outside, we invite them in. Now, go fix your hair.” And extending his hand to Paul, he said heartily, “Welcome! Come in!”

  Paul returned the handshake and stepped into the house. “Thanks, again, very much,” he said, relieved to see the man again. “This is a lovely house. When was it built?”

  “I believe 1822—but that’s a question you can ask my wife—come on in, and I’ll introduce you,” Colonel Durham led him through a dining room to a living room, where the willowy blond woman he recognized from the picture sat on the sofa, wearing a cotton print dress with a high neck and nursing a boy toddler. With large brown eyes and straight pale hair in a bun, she looked more subdued than her husband. A girl, a smaller copy of her, sat on the couch reading a book.

  “Sallie, this is Paul Fester, the medic that put me back together after that mortar round almost took me out.”

  “Paul. So glad to meet you,” Sallie said, lifting her eyes to his briefly with a smile. She dropped them right away, as though she were shy, or uncomfortable.

  “Let me introduce you to some of my children,” Colonel Durham said. “This is our son Jabez, and this here on the couch—stand up, please, Linette—is Linette.”

  “Hello,” said Linette, not meeting his eyes.

  Colonel Durham was looking around. “I just saw someone—oh, there you are. Brittany and Melanie, I’d like you to meet Paul Fester.”

  Two young teen girls appeared with blond curly hair in ponytails, and both were wearing cotton print skirts that came below the knee. Paul was starting to see the pattern. The Durhams must belong to a church that believed that women and girls should always wear skirts, he guessed.

  By the time they started to sit down at a table on the porch for dinner, he had met about seven girls, mostly younger ones. Some were blond and shy: others were brown-haired and energetic. It was easy to figure out which parent had begotten which children.

  Some oldest girls came down last, as a group: three brunettes—tall and full-figured, and two blonds—twins with long straight hair pulled back from their slim tan faces. Despite the fact that they were wearing the same kind of clothing as their younger sisters, they carried themselves differently. There was an air of dismal sophistication about them, as though they were cuisine reviewers at a very poor restaurant. He was introduced to Rachel, Miriam, Priscilla, Tammy and Taren, and felt as though he was beneath their notice.

  Colonel Durham had been mistaken, Paul saw clearly. We don’t have anything in common.

  “Let’s sit down,” Colonel Durham said, leading the way to a long table on the screened-in patio on one side of the house. They all took their places, and as they bowed their heads for grace, Paul automatically made the sign of the cross, and sensed eyes upon him. He felt a little self-conscious as he crosssed himself again when the prayer ended. But after all, I’m Catholic. I can’t hide it.

  When he looked up, he found himself under the bold, inquisitive stare of the girl he had heard introduced as Rachel. She was sitting right across from him. Up until now, he hadn’t been sure she had noticed his existence, but she had clearly noted the Catholic gesture. She said nothing, but lowered her thick lashes as though she were hiding a smile in her blue-green eyes. He noticed again that her face and figure were quite attractive, but in a way that was almost too smooth and conventionally obvious to capture his lasting attention. He had known girls like that in high school—the class beauties, the prom queens—and he had never felt the slightest interest in them, nor they in him. Briefly, he wondered if Rachel Durham’s world was allowed to include prom queens or beauty pageants.

  So Paul focused his attention on the younger girls, who seemed to regard him more congenially. One of them, with wavy hair and tranquil eyes, sat next to Rachel.

  “You’re Melanie, right?” he asked.

  She nodded, and a wide smile came over her face that he couldn’t help returning.

  “How old are you, Melanie?”

  “Thirteen.” Her soft voice had a slight drawl.

  “What grade are you in school?”

  “I’ll be in eighth grade this year at Bayside Christian.”

  To Paul’s surprise, Rachel, said, again with lowered lashes, “That’s our school. It’s a private Christian academy run by our church.”

  “Oh. Bayside Christian Fellowship, right?” Paul remembered.

  Colonel Durham spoke up, “That’s right. We joined the church around five years ago. It’s been a real blessing.” Paul noted a smile barely touched Rachel’s lips at that remark. “We’re all quite involved in the church. I’m on the board of directors, I lead the men’s group, and Sallie hosts a woman’s group. The girls are all part of the Young Christians group at our church, too.” Colonel Durham passed down a dish to Paul. “Peas from our garden. The girls shelled them.”

  “That’s great,” Paul said. “My parents did gardening, too.”

  “How many kids were in your family again?”

  “Eight.”

  “Really?” Sallie seemed surprised. “Where do you fall in?”<
br />
  “I’m number seven,” Paul answered after swallowing his food.

  Rachel’s eyebrows rose.

  “Is that so?” Sallie said, “Robbie’s number seven in our family.”

  Her husband caught her eye and chuckled, “He’s number seven for both of us, that is.”

  Conversation continued rather agreeably for the remainder of dinner, and afterwards, Paul volunteered to help with the dishes. This seemed to soften the older girls’ attitude towards him considerably, and they quickly set him up with soap and a scrubbing brush.

  “Ah, back to boot camp, eh?” Colonel Durham looked into the kitchen. “If you’ll excuse me, Paul, I’ve got to answer some email.” Paul nodded, realizing that the colonel had deliberately left him alone with his daughters.

  Paul doubted that the daughters were enthused. Rachel looked at him with narrowed eyes for a moment, and when one of the girls said something about “…when we’re down on the beach,” Rachel shushed her abruptly.

  “So why are you here for the summer?” queried the stocky dark-haired girl with striking eyebrows over blue eyes, who he remembered was called Miriam. “Do you have a job here or are you on vacation?”

  “Actually, a combination of both. I’ll be entertaining at Colonial Festival this summer,” Paul said, scrubbing the bottom of a pot.

  “Really? Are you dressing up as a Revolutionary War soldier then?” Cheryl asked. She was the tallest of the blonds, with glasses, freckles, and short bobbed hair.

  “No, I’m actually dressed as a harlequin. I have a routine I do—some juggling, some acrobatics, a few magic tricks, and playing the flute—that sort of thing.”

  “What’s a harlequin?” Miriam asked.

  “‘Harlequin’—as in ‘Harlequin Romance,’” Rachel put in, scraping leftover peas into a plastic container. “The little clown in diamond-patterned tights with a funny black hat. He’s on their logo.”