Snake Dancer

Prologue As soon as I saw the pond in the distance, my heart began to race, and I could hear Red Ruby’s tail shaking against her special-made box. Even the other snakes I was carrying in the bag began to squirm around as if on cue. Since snakes have an uncanny way of sensing fear and apprehension in others, I knew they were only reacting to my anxiety. Coming back to this Kentucky version of Eden was causing my mind to conjure up four years’ worth of pent-up emotions—the most dominant being regret. Since my dad wasn’t able to free the snakes—the tools of his Holiness ministry, it was only fitting that I was the one now releasing these members of our household into the forest. Red Ruby had been in our home for as long as I can remember. Her big red rattler was famous in our church circuit. Red Ruby was not only an anomaly—she was also a celebrity. When Ruby visited a church house, the crowd spilled over into the vestibule because most knew they would see either a miracle or a death. Before I set my captives free, I rested at the water’s edge. I looked at my reflection, trying to catch a glimpse of that naïve thirteen-year-old girl of four years ago. I couldn’t; she was gone. I truly thought that by keeping my sin to myself I was doing everyone a favor. Wrong. A secret sin can lie dormant for a while, but mark my words, eventually someone has to pay for it—even if that someone is completely innocent. I learned that lesson the hard way. Life lessons are one of my dad’s favorite topics—especially for me. The oldest of four girls, I was taught how to catch and care for the church’s menagerie of snakes. The first lesson I learned was to have a healthy respect for the serpents. Even though I was freeing them today, I still had to be cautious because snakes have no loyalty; they will gladly bite the hand that feeds them. Carefully, I stepped backward as I thrust the snakes in the bag forward. Some slithered out of sight quickly, while others took their time as though they were relishing the feel of freedom. Out of respect for Red Ruby, I waited for the horde of serpents to vacate the mossy knoll before I let her loose. She was special; in some ways I hated her…yet in other ways I loved her. I raised the box high enough so I knew she could hear me. Just like speaking to a good friend, I said, “Ruby, I’ve got to leave now and take care of my family. I can’t vindicate all the wrong that’s been done to us, but maybe you can.” The vibration of her rattle was her only reply. I carefully opened the box and let her come out in her own sweet time. I watched from a distance as she meandered her way to freedom knowing our lives would never be the same. Chapter 1 Most weekdays, we all piled into the church van and rode to school with Momma, but today I drove so I could leave directly after school to pick up Dad’s supplies. Not only was my dad the pastor of Middle Fork Church of God, he was also one of the best tile layers in Kentucky. On the weekends and after school, I helped him —my specialty was mosaics. Perry, my ten-year-old sister, mosaic protégé, and partner in crime, was waiting in Dad’s old work truck this morning with a mug full of hot coffee she made for me. When Dad bought his new truck, I claimed the twenty-year-old, rusted-out Chevy as my own. It wasn’t pretty, but it got me where I needed to go. Perry, like my dad and me, was an early bird. She preferred going to school early which almost never happened when she rode with Momma. My mom preferred the pressure of being right on time or a minute or two late rather than being too early and having to wait. Laurel and Whitley, my middle sisters, were both okay with Momma’s aversion to “earliness” because it gave them more time to work on their hair. They took the Bible literally about their hair being their glory. It took them a good hour to get ready each morning. Not Perry and me—ponytails and braids were very efficient. “Come on, slowpoke!” my little sister hollered. The freckles on her nose only made her cuter. “What’s your hurry, girl?” I asked. “Are you kidding?” She blew out a breath of exasperation. “I just need some peace and quiet from those curling iron queens. Les, I’m sure glad you aren’t one of those kinds of girls.” “But I used to know my way around a curling iron,” I told her. I could see through my peripheral vision her reach up and touch her braid. We are such similar creatures even though we don’t look a thing alike. Perry gave us time to get earshot away from the house before she looked over at me with her most mischievous grin and said, “Are you ready?” I knew I was being a bad influence, but I felt it was one of the more harmless of my vices. I nodded my head and gave her a thumbs up sign. She tuned the radio station to country music and turned the volume as loud as the old truck’s AM/FM radio would go. Country music was as taboo in our household as watching television. The only time we were able to watch T.V. was when we stayed at a friend’s house, which wasn’t often. When Blake Shelton’s big voice came bellowing over the speakers, Perry actually squealed with reckless abandon. She leaned back and placed both feet upon the dashboard. I smiled when I noticed what looked like a pair of jeans sticking out from underneath her long, skirt