Making Waves (2 page)

“Employ? Is that what you call it?”

“I believe you’ve made your position on our help quite clear.” She pinned Marguerite with her steely blue gaze. “Your father may allow you to speak your opinions so openly, but I do not. Besides, you know we have always paid the Dawsons well.”

“You pay enough for them to survive, but never leave. Her family came to Iowa with dreams of going West.”

Her mother fired another warning look in her direction. “That was years ago, and before Alice lost her husband. She’s lucky we took her in to cook and let her bring Lilly along. And now it’s time for Lilly to find her own place of employment and make friends with those of her own station.”

Hot coals of anger burned deep inside Marguerite
. I know,
I know – be slow to speak. Slow to become angry. But do
You have to make it so hard?
She inhaled a steadying breath. “Mother, how can you send her, of all people, away? She’s like my sister.”

Her mother took a sip from her teacup and released an exasperated sigh. “Must you always make waves, Marguerite? Lilly is not your sister. She’s your chambermaid. I admit you are obviously fond of her – overly so.” She paused, giving her words weight. “But dear, you need to realize your position in society and understand her place is not beside you.”

A man cleared his throat in the parlor’s doorway.

“Daddy!” Marguerite launched herself into his arms.

He swung her in a circle and lowered her to the floor. “What’s all this? I thought I heard raised voices.”

“Mother is going to dismiss Lilly.”

Her father looked at his wife and raised an eyebrow. “Our Lilly?”

“Our staff is too large, and it needs to be trimmed. Marguerite doesn’t need a constant companion any longer. She’s nineteen and will be marrying soon.”

Irritated, Marguerite wrinkled her nose.

Her father appeared to bite back a chuckle and stroked his beard. “Well, I think we may need Lilly after all.” He dropped his long frame into a wing chair.

“Edward, you can’t keep babying her.” Her mother puckered her lips.

He held up his hand. “Hear me out, Camille. I’ve secured a camping site for us at Lake Manawa. Marguerite will not want to be in a tent by herself.”

Face ashen, her mother reached for her tea, the cup shaking in her hands. “We’re going to spend the summer outdoors?”

“Yes, isn’t it splendid? You know, all of the best families are doing it. I know the Grahams, the Deardons, the Longleys, and the Kelloggs have already set up campsites near the Grand Plaza. I was lucky to get one for us there at this late date. The season is already in full swing.”

“The whole season at the lake?” Marguerite squealed with delight.

“All summer long.”

“In tents?” Her mother’s lips thinned to a tight line.

“Yes, but we’ll take many of our things from the house.” Her father reached for the newspaper and shook it open.

Her mother cleared her throat. “But Edward, dear, what about your work?”

“I’ll take the streetcar into town every morning, but that shouldn’t keep my son and the two beautiful women in my life from enjoying the greatest entertainment mecca of the West.”

“And Lilly?” Marguerite dared to ask.

Her father grinned. “Well, I do believe you’ll need your personal maid to keep all your party dresses in order. Don’t you think? Now, go tell your brother the news.”

Mosquitoes swarmed around Marguerite’s head, tangling themselves in the netting of her new summer hat. She swatted them away with a gloved hand and smiled, refusing to let one minute of what her mother insisted on calling her “last summer of freedom” to be wasted on something as petty as insects.

The camping area her father had arranged was at the end of one of the long rows of tents. Well-established oak trees offered shade, and with neighbors only on their right side, they would have more privacy than most of the families. In front of their tents, a path led from the camp to the Grand Plaza. In the rear, a tree-lined service road provided access to area farms for fresh produce.

“Edward, can’t you hurry them along? I think the whole lot must be dawdling.” Cheeks flushed, her mother waved a fan in front of her face. She used the lacy instrument to point toward the area where their household servants struggled to erect the last of the four tents that would make up the Westing family summer home. Her parents would have the large tent like hers and Lilly’s. The cook’s tent and her brother’s tent, which he would share with Isaiah, one of the male servants, were each considerably smaller.

Two weeks had passed since her father’s announcement, and her mother had needed every moment to organize supplies and furniture for the lake home. A wagon loaded with their belongings sat a few yards away. Although Marguerite kept insisting they didn’t need a silver tea service at the lake, a blanket lay on her mother’s precious server, and a bit of the shiny surface reflected the bright sun. That, along with pots, pans, brass beds, feather mattresses, and Wedgwood china, would bring all the comforts of home into their tiny tents – even if home was only a few miles away.

The two male servants, Clay and Lewis, stretched a large sheet of heavy canvas over the two center poles and then covered the four corner poles in record time, but Camille grumbled about how slowly the two men worked. At least they would be returning to the main house in town.

Marguerite glanced at her mother and noticed a shimmer of perspiration beading her face. She touched her mother’s arm. “They should be done soon. Why don’t we go sit in the shade?”

“That’s a wonderful idea.” Without hesitation, her father scooped up two folding camp stools and carried them to the nearest tree. He snapped them open, patted one of the canvas seats, took his wife’s hand, and seated her. “There, darling. I told you that you’d enjoy camping.”

“Humph.” Her mother settled on the stool and smoothed her green traveling dress until it appeared wrinkle free. “I’ll have to watch over the staff like a hawk. All these diversions will have them dallying constantly. And Marguerite, don’t you think for a minute that I won’t have time to keep an eye on you as well.”

“What about Mark?” She turned to see her twelve-year-old brother attempting to help Clay but getting shooed from the area.

“Mark’s a boy. Exploring is what boys do.”

Marguerite sighed and watched as the two burly servants each took a diagonal corner of the canvas and pulled it tight. Almost in unison, they drove in stakes to secure the tent in place.

“Are you listening to me?” her mother said.

“Yes, Mother, I heard you, and I assure you that I don’t need to be watched like some child.”

Her father patted Camille’s arm. “She’s right, darling. Our little girl is a young woman, and by next summer she’ll be setting up a camp of her own.” He winked at Marguerite.

She grimaced. Mosquitoes might not ruin this day, but a reminder that her mother expected acceptance of any proposal Roger Gordon might offer, even in jest, certainly would.

Feeling smothered by more than the late June heat, she rose from her chair. “If you’ll both excuse me, I think I’ll go look around. I believe I saw the Grahams’ camp on the way in, and I’d like to say hello to Emily.”

“Don’t wander too far off,” her mother said as if the effort to speak had drained her. “We’re expected for dinner at Louie’s French Restaurant with the Underwoods promptly at 6:30.”

“Mother, we’re at the lake. It’s in vogue to be late.”

A deep scowl marred her mother’s perfect complexion. “As Westings, we are always prompt. It would serve you well to remember that.”

Willowy Emily Graham, who was a couple years younger than Marguerite, jumped from her camp chair and ran to greet Marguerite. “When did you arrive? Is that your camp that’s being set up down the way?”

“Yes, it was Daddy’s idea to summer here at the lake.”

“We arrived three weeks ago. Let me go grab my hat and parasol and I’ll show you around.”

She rushed off before Marguerite could even answer, then returned just as quickly. Linking her arm in Marguerite’s, Emily directed her down the pebbled path. “Now, where should we go first? Oh, I know. The Grand Plaza.”

Soon they were walking beside the lake on the paved, treelined walkway leading to the social center of the resort on the northeast side. They passed the main pavilion with its red-tiled roof and crisp white veranda.

“Inside there’s a restaurant, a refreshment bar, a dance floor, and several meeting areas.” Emily squeezed Marguerite’s arm. “Did you know they even have a telephone? If you pay the fee, you can call as far as New York!”

Progressing further, Marguerite noticed that besides the various vendors around the Grand Plaza, there were several additional larger structures on the shore. When questioned, Emily named each of them: the Yacht Club, a boat shop, and two icehouses. Across the lake, on the south side, fewer buildings dotted the area. “Emily, how big is this lake?”

“My father says it’s about six miles around, but it’s more crescent-shaped than circular.” She pointed to the center of the lake. “The big island in the middle is Coney Island and the smaller one is Turtle Island. See those rowboats? You can rent them from the Yacht Club.”

Before long, Emily had paraded them through the Grand Plaza, headed toward the sandy beach to show Marguerite the dive tower and toboggan runs, and given her a history of the lake, which was formed in 1881 after a flood. Emily explained that the south side was called Manhattan Beach, as the developer, Mr. O’Dell, wanted it to have an Eastern feel.

Marguerite and Emily sat down at a park bench as the wind carried a cool breeze over the water. Marguerite released a slow breath. “It’s so peaceful here.”

Emily giggled. “It should be.
Manawa
is an Indian word meaning ‘peace.’”

“I sure hope it lives up to its name. I could use a little peace.” Away from humdrum Roger Gordon.

As they returned to Emily’s camp, thoughts of Roger suddenly spurred Marguerite’s memory. “Good heavens. I’m going to be late. Emily, please forgive me. I have to leave. I’m supposed to be meeting my parents for dinner at 6:30.”

“Hurry. I can only imagine what your mother is like when you’re late. Do you remember the way back to the pavilion?”

Marguerite nodded and rushed down the path. If she didn’t stop at her own camp to freshen up, she might make it.

Skirting the deck chairs lining the pier, Marguerite held on to her hat and ran as fast as she dared toward the enormous pavilion. Her mother would be furious. She shouldn’t have spent so much time wandering around the lake with Emily.

But it had been delightful, and it had confirmed her hopes. Her heart skipped like a child’s on Christmas Eve just thinking about a summer full of excitement.

She came to a halt in front of a young man sweeping the boardwalk and pressed a hand to her stomach, attempting to catch her breath. “Excuse me. Would you by chance know the time?”

He checked his pocket watch. “It’s 6:30, miss.”

“Oh no. Which door of the pavilion do I enter to reach Louie’s French Restaurant?”

“Louie’s is on the other side of the lake, miss, not inside the pavilion. If you hurry, you can catch the steamboat over there. She’s headed across the lake.”

“Thank you,” she called over her shoulder as she hurried toward the end of the dock where passengers boarded the steamboat
Liberty
.

“Miss,” the attendant shouted, “I wouldn’t rush if I were you. The planking gets pretty slick this time of night.”

The warning registered a fraction of a second too late as she skidded on the dock. Her arms flailing, her feet flew out from under her, and she fell headlong into the lake, the murky water swallowing her. Frantic, she searched in vain for something – anything – to hold on to. Kicking with all her might, she resurfaced, only to have her dress entangle her legs. Then, without warning, the lake claimed her again.

2

Breaking through the surface of the water, Marguerite thrashed about wildly. A thick arm encircled her jaw and held her tight against a solid chest. Panicked, she made contact with the man’s unyielding arm and sank her nails deep into his flesh. The rescuer held firm.