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

by Regina Doman

  “Dear Dad, Rachel is lying about Paul. I can’t tell you why, but she told me that she lied about him. I don’t think this is fair. Please don’t believe her. Sincerely, Lydia.”

  He put it down, and looked at Rachel meaningfully. She couldn’t move.

  He picked up the next one.

  “Dear Dad, I don’t trust what Rachel said she told you about Paul. Paul is a decent, good man, and he wouldn’t do such a thing. Love, Miriam.”

  He read the next letter. “Dear Dad, Paul Fester is a Christian even though he is a Catholic, and I don’t think he would ever do such a thing as Rachel said. In Christ, Cheryl.”

  Going on, he read the others, one by one, “Dear Dad. Please don’t take seriously what Rachel said about Paul. I think she was ticked off at him for some other reason, and didn’t realize how bad what she said must have come off. I don’t think there is a need to look into this matter more closely, but I would advise you to not trust what she has said. I for one do not believe it. Sincerely, Taren.”

  “Dear Dad, Rachel can be really strange sometimes. I don’t know why she said what she said about Paul, but I know it is not true. Love, Rebecca.”

  “I think Paul is honest and Rachel is lying. Don’t believe her. Brittany.”

  “Dear Dad, Rachel has been very stressed out lately. Please try to understand her. But I don’t believe what she said about Paul, and I don’t think you should either. In Christ, Melanie.”

  “In my opinion, you shouldn’t listen to what Rachel said about Paul. It’s just crazy. Sincerely, Tammy.”

  “Dear Dad, Paul Fester is good and kind and has been a great teacher. He is also a good friend. We have never seen him do anything like what Rachel said. Please don’t make him leave. We love him. Love, Debbie and Linette.”

  He set these aside and picked up the last one. “Dear Father, Rachel is really, really wacked out. I think what is going on here is that she has a crush on Paul. But I think he already has a girlfriend, so she made up a crazy story about him for spite or something. I wouldn’t believe it if I were you. Prisca.”

  Finished, he looked at her quizzically. The silence stretched between them. At last, he said in a stern voice, “Rachel, it appears to me that you have some explaining to do.”

  She bit her lip, which was salty with tears, and wished she could push herself into the crack of the chair and disappear.

  “You do realize, don’t you, that Paul could be charged with sexual assault for what you said about him.”

  Startled, she looked at her dad. “You’re not going to charge him with that, are you?”

  “Would you want me to?” he asked.

  She sat silently staring at the floor.

  “Rachel, despite all of these,” her father gestured at the letters, “I am still willing to believe your story if you are telling me the truth. But are you?”

  This was the moment. Was she going to stand by her lie, or not?

  Trembling, she shook her head, no.

  “Then what happened between you and Paul was not as serious as you led me to believe?”

  She shook her head, no, again.

  “Rachel, why would you set out to destroy a young man’s character like that? Do you realize the seriousness of what you said? You could ruin his military record, you could ruin his chances at medical school, you could ruin his life. Our society takes actions like those seriously. I can’t believe that you would knowingly damage an innocent man’s good name out of spite.”

  She whispered, “I wouldn’t.”

  She tried to stifle a sob. Her father rose, picked up a box of tissues, went over to her, and handed them to her. She took one, and surprisingly, he put a gentle hand on her shoulder.

  “Rachel, why would you do such a thing?”

  Would she try to patch things together with another lie? She sobbed, thinking, trying to decide. At last she managed to say, “I was angry at him.”

  Surely her father would ask her why. And the interrogation would begin.

  But instead, all he said was, “I see.”

  She waited, and her father continued, “I think you owe that young man an apology.”

  Bemused, she merely nodded her head, yes.

  Paul was packing.

  He was still struggling over whether or not to try to get out of his commitment to juggle at the festival. But there were only a few days left before it ended, and he thought perhaps the coordinator might let him go. He would be losing out more than they would—the last week of the festival was usually the biggest. He would have made quite a bit of money.

  But at any rate, he thought he should move to a campsite further away from the Durham’s property.

  He was still in free-fall, and he was fairly sure that his chances of recovery had smashed to the ground by now.

  It hurt. With a deep sigh, he rubbed the miraculous medal on the chain around his neck, and whispered a prayer. He was weary of trusting, but he had to keep trying.

  As he took down his tent, he looked over his shoulder, and saw a group of girls winding their way through the woods towards him. The Durham girls. Rachel wasn’t with them.

  “Hi,” Miriam spoke up.

  “Hi,” he said, folding up the drop cloth from his tent, his face warm with shame. He saw Debbie’s lip was trembling. The rest of the girls looked a bit uncomfortable, or shy. They ranged themselves along the edge of the campsite and watched him.

  “Are—are you leaving?” Linette asked.

  He looked over at her, a bit embarrassed himself. “I’m not sure,” he said. “I have to find out if the festival coordinator will let me leave early. I’m supposed to work until the festival ends next week.”

  “So why are you packing up?”

  “I just thought I would move to a different campsite, that’s all,” Paul said, with an effort to be casual. He glanced at them again.

  Miriam was eyeing Cheryl, who nodded at her. Miriam cleared her throat. “Well, we just wanted to come to—express our support.”

  He looked at them, a bit dubious. “Support for what?”

  Tammy, who had never deigned to speak to him before, tossed her golden hair and said, “Rachel told us what she accused you of. We don’t agree with what she did. We told our dad so.”

  Taken aback, he repeated, “You told your dad?”

  “We wrote him letters,” Debbie said. “It was Mel’s idea.” Melanie, her eyes red, gave him a tiny smile.

  “All of us,” Prisca said. She winked at him. “I think Rachel’s a bit daft, if you ask me.”

  Paul blinked, completely astonished by this turn of events. He turned the folded drop cloth over and over in his hands, not sure of what to do.

  “So we don’t want you to leave,” Debbie said. She walked over to him and tugged his hand, as though she were still a small child. “Can you stay?”

  “All right,” he said, feeling a different kind of warmth spread over his face. In his heart, he felt his grip closing on an unexpected trapeze bar, barely in time. He had been saved. Unconsciously he felt for his miraculous medal to say thank you.

  “Can we help you put your tent back up?” Linette asked.

  “Uh—sure.”

  “We used to have a tent like that,” Cheryl said. “My dad used to use one to go on his fishing trips.”

  “Really?” he said. The girls crowded around him, offering advice, picking things up, taking things out, and attempting to help. All in all, it took Paul much longer to set up his tent now than it had been to set it up the first time.

  Taren and Liddy ran back to the Durhams’ to ask if Paul could come over for supper, and when the reply came back in the positive, he found himself escorted back to the Durham house with a contingent of dark-haired and blond-haired girls. Despite the chatter and friendly banter, he felt a slight discomfort. Rachel was nowhere to be seen.

  Colonel Durham met them at the door. He took Paul’s hand and shook it, with a creased smile. After the girls went in, he said, “I’m sorry about t
he trouble you had with Rachel. She has something to say to you, but since dinner’s ready, let’s eat first.” He held up a sheaf of papers. “I thought you might want to know I received these eleven votes of confidence in you. And you have my vote of confidence as well.”

  Paul hesitated. “Thank you, sir. Then—should I—?”

  Colonel Durham nodded. “Carry on, soldier. Carry on.”

  As they sat down for dinner, Paul saw Rachel come out from the kitchen, her face red and her eyes were puffy. She slipped into a chair on the end of the table and said nothing during the meal.

  Afterwards, Colonel Durham said, “Rachel prepared this delicious meal for us, so I suggest the rest of you girls return the favor and clean the kitchen together.” He looked at Rachel and nodded at her meaningfully.

  Paul saw Rachel blow out her breath and stand up. She abruptly got up from the table and walked out to the front hallway. Colonel Durham looked at Paul and made a slight movement of his head toward Rachel. Paul folded his napkin, and followed Rachel out of the dining room, knowing all eyes were fixed on them both.

  seventeen

  Paul followed Rachel as she walked out to the south side of the house. He hadn’t been in this section before. She went down some stone steps to a small herb garden terraced into the ground. It was a very pretty spot, with a stone bench on one side. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and sat down on the end of the bench, her arms folded, her dark lashes lowered over her eyes.

  Paul sat down on the other end, and leaned forward, his hands on his knees, looking at the herb garden. It was planted in the shape of a cross, with a sand path around it. It was simple, pristine, and beautiful.

  He couldn’t look at Rachel. Her competence, skill, and real concern for her sisters made him genuinely admire her. He respected her. But because of this, he knew she was capable of hurting him more than the others could.

  “Dad said I needed to apologize to you,” she said at last, stiffly.

  He watched a tiny white butterfly flit from one plant head to another.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “I forgive you.”

  There was silence. Finally she heaved a sigh and pushed back her hair. “So, are you going to tell him?” she asked.

  Paul turned and met the blue-green eyes that were looking at him resentfully. “I think you should tell him,” he said

  “What? Tell him everything?”

  He closed his eyes and nodded. When he looked at her again, she was turned away, shaking her head.

  “So that’s why you haven’t told him? Because you want me to tell him?” she asked, her voice touched with irony.

  He nodded again.

  “You’re insane.”

  He shrugged. “Rachel, how much longer do you think you girls can keep this up before he finds out?”

  “We’ll see, won’t we?”

  “It’s…perilous.”

  “Perilous? Don’t you mean wrong?”

  He shook his head. “There’s nothing wrong with taking a midnight boat ride, going to visit friends, and dancing under the moonlight.”

  “Some people at my church would disagree.”

  He shrugged. “It’s not intrinsically immoral. But what’s wrong is that you’re doing something like this in secret. Without your parents’ knowledge. It’s imprudent. And going to that island is courting danger. For yourself, and especially for your younger sisters. You love them, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” she said defensively.

  “Then why don’t you stop?”

  She toyed with her hair for a long moment before she answered. When she did, that smile was on her lips again. “Because I don’t think it’s dangerous. And even if it is, isn’t dying from danger better than dying of boredom?” She laughed shortly.

  “You’re bored?”

  “Yes. Bored with always trying to be good.”

  “Are you sure you know what goodness is?”

  She looked at him curiously. “What is it, then?”

  He paused, and thoughts flew through his mind—mountains, trees swaying in the wind, his father kissing his mother, sitting around the supper table with his brothers and sisters, Mass—the beautiful statues, the lovely paintings in the church, the glory of stained-glass windows, the harmony of the liturgy and music, the poetry of the human body—

  Using phrases he had learned in theology class and read in books, he attempted to articulate what goodness was—its power, its concreteness, above all, its beauty—a tangible, hands-on beauty as well as a spirit-lifting, mind-firing beauty—theology and poetry and philosophy and mathematics and order and the romp of playfulness—new babies and bulbs shooting from the earth and creases on the hands of an elderly lady who had spent her life in service to others—

  He knew he wasn’t an orator, or a particularly good communicator. He spoke haltingly, rambling, then, gaining certainty from the truth of what he was saying, grew effusive, quoting the saints and poets and prophets, recalling sayings of the popes and philosophers, trying to paint a verbal portrait of what goodness was, and why loving it was so critical.

  And Rachel smiled, listened to him, and looked up at the sky. He noticed it was getting dark. The moon would soon be rising.

  “Paul,” she said softly, and he realized he had been talking for some time without her really listening.

  He felt defeated. She had grown up listening to sermons, he realized. Some of them had probably been quite sound, and quite eloquent. But they had no effect on her. Words were not going to win her heart.

  He fell silent.

  She rose, then turned and looked at him. “Are you still going to follow us?” she asked, a bit mocking.

  “Yes.”

  She lowered her chin and looked up at him. “Michael wouldn’t like that, if I told him.”

  “I suspect you’re right. Are you going to tell him?”

  She half-smiled, and then changed her tone. “No,” she said gravely, her eyes serious. “Because of my younger sisters. They like having you with us.”

  He felt a surge of frustration with her, and he wanted to stop her from going. But he hadn’t chosen that path.

  “All right,” he said, dropping his gaze to hide his disappointment. She was effectively immunized against preaching, theology, and philosophy. It might hold her interest momentarily, but it couldn’t change her heart.

  He wondered what there was in the world that could.

  The midnight butterfly dress still wasn’t done. After putting on the skirt once, Rachel had been dissatisfied with the way it looked. Normally, she wouldn’t have cared, but after this much effort, she felt the dress had to be perfect. So she entered into the long process of ripping out stitches and doing the basting over again. And she had decided to alter the neckline. But Prisca’s birthday was at the end of the week, and Michael had promised a special party for her. She was determined to wear it by then.

  That night, trying to be classic in the 1940’s navy blue dress, she strolled out of the cave, a bit nervous. She glanced around to see if Paul was skulking in the bushes. But she couldn’t see any sign of him.

  “What does he look like?” she asked Debbie in a low voice.

  “He’s all in black, with a ninja mask that covers his face,” Debbie said. “He’s very tricky to find. I can never find him until we’re in the boat.”

  “I see,” Rachel said thoughtfully, and decided to put all thoughts of Paul out of her mind. He had always seemed determined to be a bridge linking one cosmos with another, refusing to let the world be nicely divided between night and day. A devout Catholic who played the flute as sensually as a pagan god, a clean-cut juggler for kids by day, a ninja bodyguard by night. He didn’t fit, and he wouldn’t leave her alone. But at least he wasn’t stopping her.

  Heaving a sigh in frustration, she slid and jumped down to the beach, hearing the motors coming closer. She stood on the wet sand, holding her sandals in her hand. Now there were only four boats instead of five. At least
they still had four.

  The guys pulled up beneath the willows, then came out to greet the girls and hang out for a few minutes. Pete lit up a cigarette, careful to stand downwind.

  Prisca danced down the slope in a short purple dress she had bought last week. “Sallie’s taking me to the doctor’s,” she informed the guys.

  “What for?” Pete asked.

  “She said I needed a checkup. Tammy thinks they’ve finally figured out I’m a human disease.” She bounced up and down. “Pete, can you give me a smoke?”

  Rachel said warningly, “Pete, don’t.”

  “Oh, you party pooper,” Prisca scoffed. “It’s just one.”

  “You’ll smell,” Rachel said.

  “Oh, all right.”

  Rachel turned just in time to see a thin dark shadow slide from the trunk of the willow tree to the boats bobbing in the dark water. She abruptly turned away, and tried to forget she had seen anything.

  The ride to the island was uneventful, and Michael and his friends met them at the quay as before.

  “You are coming on Friday, aren’t you?” he asked Rachel as he gave her a hand up.

  “For Prisca’s birthday? Of course,” she said. “We’re all looking forward to it.”

  “Good,” he said, and drew her apart. He said in a low voice, “I’m thinking of inviting a special friend for Prisca. Tell me, do you think she prefers blond or dark-haired men?”

  “I can’t tell,” she said, thinking. “Dark-haired, I think.”

  “Which do you prefer?” he asked, looking at her, his eyes smoky.

  She laughed. “Now that’s a loaded question.”

  “Is it? Or do you prefer another alternative, like brown hair?”

  “I prefer nice men, if that’s what you’re asking,” she said coyly, curling her arm around his.

  “Good,” he said. “Would you dance with me?”

  “Sure.”

  They danced several times that night, and Rachel was hence more distracted than usual. She forgot about looking over her shoulder to detect Paul’s presence. To tell the truth, she had forgotten he was there.

  Paul sat cross-legged in the crook of his oak tree, aware that Rachel was just below him, swaying in the arms of the master of the island. He felt enormously insignificant just now. Apparently all the girls now knew he was with them, but they barely seemed to care, with the exception of Melanie, Linette, and Debbie.