five

Paul stood on the Durham’s doorstep around ten o’clock the next morning, steeled with determination, and  knocked. He wasn’t entirely sure of what to do next, but it had occurred to him that this might be a decent idea.

When one of the girls answered the door, he asked to see their mother. In a few minutes, Sallie came to the door. She was dressed in a blue cotton jumper, and was holding baby Jabez, who looked recently cleaned.

“Good morning, Paul,” she said, and her eyes were still a bit nervous, although she smiled. “What can I do for you?”

“I wanted to say thanks again for the great dinner last night. I really appreciated it.”

“Well, you’re very welcome, I’m sure.”

“Last night, I had told your younger daughters, Debbie and Linette, that I could teach them juggling. They seemed to be interested so I wanted to find out if that was all right with you, and when would be a good time.”

Sallie looked hesitant. “I would have to ask my husband. That’s very kind of you to offer. Would you want to be paid for it?”

Paul shook his head. “Not at all. Actually, I’m scheduled to do this show next week at the Colonial festival. I could really use some assistants. If you and Colonel Durham were willing, and the girls as well, they could be my assistants in the show.”

“Oh my! Well, that would keep them busy! Are you sure you could teach them in time?”

“Even if they learn a few things, they can help me out. It’s really not that difficult.”

She paused. “I’d have to check with my husband first. If he says it’s okay, then maybe you could come by at noon to teach them? If the girls are finished with their chores. Would that work for you?”

“Sounds great!”

“All right,” Sallie said, still seeming a little guarded. “I’ll see you then, Mr. Fester.”

“Call me Paul, please. Goodbye.”

Paul walked away as the door closed, breathing deeply.  He was fairly certain Colonel Durham would allow the lessons.  The only difficulty was that he was sure he would be tired by noon.

I’d better go back to the tent and make up my sleep now, he thought. And I hope Debbie and Linette manage to make up their sleep too.

Rachel yawned over the laundry. I must, I must get some sleep today. She thought of the hammock outside in the sun.  After she was done here, she would steal down there and doze off, if none of her sisters got there first.

Stepping up her pace, she finished the laundry a bit more quickly than usual, dabbed on some sunscreen, and slipped outside, stifling another yawn.  The hammock hung in a corner of the yard, unoccupied.  She lay down, closed her eyes against the sun, and was asleep almost instantly, swaying in the breeze.

A bit later on, she drifted to the surface of sleep and became aware of shrieks of laughter and shouts. She opened one eye, and saw some figures cavorting on the lawn. After watching them in a bored perplexity for some time, she remembered that Paul was supposed to come over to teach Debbie and Linette juggling, or tumbling, or something like that. She closed her eyes again.

Then she heard giggles coming closer. She opened an eye a bit irritated, and saw her two younger biological sisters Liddy and Becca, dressed in fancy dresses, come dancing up to the hammock, carrying a big plastic hamper between them.

“What are you doing?” she asked, a bit sharply.

Liddy, resplendent in royal blue, with ample costume jewelry said, “Becca and I are going to play dress up. In the cave.”

“Won’t Sallie think you’re a bit old for dress-up?” Rachel asked mildly.

“Oh no. She saw us, and she said we looked very cute,” said fourteen-year-old Becca. “Of course, we were doing it with the young ones, before Paul came and stole them away from us. So we’re just bringing the rest of the dresses down to the cave to wait for them.”

“I see,” Rachel said, “and you might just forget and leave them down there.”

“We might,” Liddy giggled.

“I see,” Rachel said, and closed her eyes again. She wondered to herself if there was a dress somewhere in the house that she could wear. There was something about seeing guys on summer nights that made her want to dress up.  But she didn’t exactly want to go in an old dress-up gown or discarded bridesmaid dress. Her own bridesmaid dress from her father’s second marriage had been made for her before she really hit her growth spurt—no question of her fitting into it now. Besides, it was pale blue cotton with ivory roses on it. At the time, she had picked out the fabric herself. But now it seemed like fabric for a naïve little girl, not for someone—well, like herself.

Remembering picking out the bridesmaid dresses turned over painful memories. Her mother’s death was something she had pushed to the furthest reaches of her mind. For a long time her father had seemed so anxious that she not be psychologically disturbed by the tragedy, and had arranged a plethora of counseling services for her, and would probably do so again, instantly, if he had any idea that she was still struggling with it. But she was weary of talking about the pain, and just wanted it to die away quietly in the back of her mind, alone and unnoticed.

The one good outcome of Mom’s dying was that for a while, it seemed, she and her father had been very close. He depended on her, the oldest, to keep the other girls together, to soak up their grief and more than that, to look after them, cook for them, feed them, keep them clothed, to run the household, especially when his military duties called.

Then he had met Sallie, and things had begun to change.  Rachel remembered bitterly the night Dad had taken her, Rachel, out to dinner, and told her about his plans to marry again. “You’ve been taking on the responsibilities of an adult, and you shouldn’t have to do that yet at your age. I want you to be free to be a child again, and enjoy being a young person.”  

Perhaps he meant it to be comforting, but for Rachel, he was stripping her of her newfound maturity. He was taking away part of her identity, even though he hadn’t realized it.  So here she was, capable of running a house, but unable to do it as she wanted, because it was no longer her house. Yet she still had to live under her father’s roof, and be a child, and she was sick of being a child.

And her father, who at one point had begun to treat her as an equal, repented to her (at their new pastor’s prodding) for placing too many burdens on her shoulders, and had proceeded, through his deeper involvement in their church, to become more and more clueless. He didn’t understand her silent outrage at having to listen to Sallie, whose haphazard housekeeping drove Rachel nuts, or her resentment towards the church and its various ministries.

Her father had turned to the church for support in his time of bereavement, and now seemed to be caught in its stranglehold. Everything in the family schedule revolved around church groups, share groups, youth groups, men’s groups, and women’s groups. Church annual retreats had become more important than Christmas and Easter, it seemed. But Rachel could see how much comfort and happiness her father and his wife derived from the church and their church family.  She didn’t dare suggest they leave or pull back. Who was she, she thought dismally, to wreck the happiness of so many people?

So she was finding her own version of happiness, in different places. Yes, what I need, she thought, is a dress. A sleek black dress, not too formal, not too casual. And black sandals, with thin straps. There was nothing in her wardrobe—or her sisters’—or Sallie’s—that remotely resembled the dress she was envisioning.  Such dresses were common enough in the outside world, but not in the cotton-print fabric of their church and family life.

The other girls would need dresses, too. Dresses to dance in.  Because they would go dancing, somehow. She felt the island would be a perfect place for a midnight dance.

She counted up dollars on her fingers. Last week she had gotten paid for several hours of filing at the church office. Perhaps next time she went into town, she could go to the Mission store—or better yet, the bargain-price clothing store that sold slightly defective brand name clothes. Next time she and Prisca went grocery shopping, they could arrange to split up and have one of them go to the store while the other went clothes shopping. Yes, that might work.

Turning over, she sighed, and gazed lazily over at the juggling class. She could see Linette tossing a club in the air and dropping it, while Paul stood in front of her, coaching her. Debbie was working with two clubs, and seemed to be doing just fine.

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.