Making Waves (27 page)

“Because it isn’t someplace ladies generally go.”

“But it’s exactly where you’re headed anyway.”

“You don’t have to go with me.” She quickly donned her tennis outfit – a narrow bell-shaped white skirt and white shirtwaist. Topping it with a plaid vest, she turned to Lilly, who added the stiff collar and cuffs.

“Oh, I’ll go.” Lilly slipped a silk black tie around her neck and tied it. “Someone needs to keep you out of trouble.”

Marguerite sat at her dressing table and picked up her brush. “Why does everyone always say that?”

Lilly chuckled. “I have no idea.”

After Lilly twisted Marguerite’s hair in a chignon, she curled the wisps on her forehead. Marguerite then pinned her soft tweed sports cap in place and packed her bathing suit in the rubber bag. She devoured a waffle drenched in maple syrup as quickly as she dared, then she and Lilly headed toward the lake.

Calm, glassy water meant only a few sailboats stippled the lake, but the steamy, humid weather had filled the steamboats with city patrons anxious to escape the heat by swimming at Manhattan Beach.

Marguerite scanned the crowds for Mark.

“He’s hiding good.” Lilly shielded her eyes from the sun. “I don’t see any sign of him. Maybe we should ask Mr. Andrews if he’s seen him.”

“I’ve got two hours before I’m to meet him. If we don’t find Mark by then, I’ll ask for his help as soon as I see him.” She squeezed the bunching muscles in her neck. Trip wouldn’t approve of where she intended to look next. Starting down the dirt road leading to the hog barn, she resisted the urge to look back over her shoulder.

“You’re mighty familiar with him.”

“Mr. Andrews?”

Lilly cast a sidelong glance at her, a teasing glint in her eye. “I believe you referred to him as Trip.”

A giggle tickled the back of Marguerite’s throat. “I’m going to ‘trip’ you if you keep this up.”

“You know, you still haven’t told me about the kiss.”

“How did you know?”

“So I’m right!” She clucked. “I was just guessing.”

Marguerite’s cheeks burned hot. She still felt the softness of his lips pressed against hers. “I think it surprised us both. Lilly, Trip’s so different, so exciting.”

“Then I take it that Mr. Roger is yesterday’s news?”

“I don’t think Roger has ever been interesting enough to even be news.”

As they walked, Marguerite explained that Trip said the footraces were usually held somewhere on Clyde Stone’s property, but never near the buildings, as it would implicate Stone in the illegal activity. She instructed Lilly to keep an eye out.

“And what do you intend to do if we find these races?”

“Whatever it takes to get Mark to go home.”

Ten minutes later, the sound of men shouting drew their attention. They followed the noise down a narrow path. Off in a clearing they saw a crowd of men – and then they saw the runners. Three of them. Two young men and one boy – Mark. At one end of the race strip, a barrel-chested, bald fellow accepted bets.

At least her father wasn’t there.

But his absence brought an unexplained ache. Hadn’t Trip talked to him about Mark? Why hadn’t he come to intervene? Lilly touched her arm. “We should go back. This is no place for ladies.”

“I can’t.”

She inched closer, unsure of whether to march up and claim her brother or wait until the racers crossed the finish line and the crowd dispersed. A gun sounded. The racers shot forward. Legs and arms pumping, Mark surged ahead of the two men and the crowd cheered.

More men waved bets at the bald man.

Marguerite and Lilly emerged from the cover of the trees, but no one noticed. Lilly squeezed her hand. “Wait back here. It’s almost over.”

Suddenly Mark grabbed his stomach and doubled over. Crumpling to the track, he vomited blood.

Marguerite gasped and let out a strangled cry.

No one came to his aid. Instead, the men ran off in all directions, clambering into their fancy rigs or taking to the paths.

Fisting her skirt in her hand, Marguerite ran through the tall grass. The man taking bets walked slowly toward the fallen runner, but Marguerite beat him there, dropping down beside him. “Mark.” She ran her hand through his sandy hair. “Don’t try to get up. Just stay right there and tell me where it hurts.”

Mark raised his head and glanced back toward the burly man. A crooked smile creased his face as he sat up. “How’d I do, Mr. McDonough?”

“Great, kid.” With a massive hand, he hauled her brother to his feet.

Marguerite looked from the man to Mark. “What’s going on? Why do you look fine now? What about the blood?”

“Lady, who are you, and what are you doing here?”

Mark rolled his eyes. “Mr. McDonough, this is my sister. Marguerite, this is Mr. McDonough.”

The man raked his eyes over her. “She need a job? We could use another pretty thing at the gambling hall.”

Marguerite stepped back.

“Naw, Mr. Gordon’s her beau, and he wouldn’t like that much.”

“Roger Gordon?”

“Yes, sir. Can I tell her how I bit that chicken liver to make it look like I was bleeding inside?”

McDonough narrowed his eyes. “That’s supposed to be our secret.”

“You sure were right, though. The men scattered like flies shooed off a piece of pie. Why?”

He rumpled Mark’s hair. “They were afraid they’d get arrested if you died. They’d have a part in causing your death.”

“So they just left their bets?” Marguerite asked.

“Better ’n being charged as an accessory to murder.” Mc-Donough hooked his thumbs in his suspenders. “I came up with that plan myself.”

Marguerite took hold of Mark’s arm and cleared her throat. “If you’ll excuse us, Mr. McDonough, I’ll be taking my brother home now.”

“He’s got another race to run this afternoon.”

“No, he doesn’t.” She shoved Mark toward the trees. “Speak to my father if you have any questions.”

“Lady, that’s who arranged the race.”

She stopped short, directed Lilly to take Mark, and then marched back to the man. “Sir, I’m sure there’s been some error.”

“Lady, I’m telling you, if that boy don’t race today, your daddy is going to be in a world of hurt.”

“I’ll speak to my father, but don’t expect my brother back – today or at any time in the future.”

“You went there alone!” Trip stopped in the middle of the grass tennis court and let the ball sail by.

Marguerite winced. Did she dare tell him she’d just gotten the point?

He approached the net. “How do you manage to make me so furious with you every time we’re together?”

Marguerite shrugged. “Natural talent?” She stepped back to the corner of the court and waited for Trip to take his place.

Chest heaving, he finally moved to the center of the court.

“Trip, I couldn’t just leave him there.” She tossed the ball in the air and lobbed it over the net.

“Fault!”

“It wasn’t my fault,” she protested. “Besides, I wasn’t alone. Lilly’s gone back to camp now, but she was with me.”

“Not that kind of fault. The ball was out, Marguerite.”

“Oh.” She served again. Hard.

Reaching the volley, Trip fired it back. “And you having Lilly along is supposed to make me feel better?”

She strained to reach the ball and fell short. “To tell you the truth, I wasn’t thinking about your feelings. I do appreciate your concern, but clearly you realize I wasn’t trying to be foolhardy. I just wanted to get Mark away from those awful men. Then when he fell and I saw all the blood, I had to do something.”

Trip’s face paled. “Blood? Do I even want to know?”

She quickly explained how McDonough told Mark to bite a chicken liver toward the end of the race. Retrieving the ball, she tossed it back to him. “You don’t need to clobber this thing. Lobbing it will do just fine.”

“It would be easier to hit it more lightly if someone wasn’t upsetting me during the game.” He stepped back to the line, bounced the ball, and hit it with the wooden racquet.

The powerful serve landed to her right, and she easily returned it. The two of them continued the volley in silence for several minutes. A close shot to the net by Marguerite earned her the point. She shot him a cocky grin and stooped near the net to retrieve the ball from Trip’s side.

He caught her wrist. “Marguerite, those men are dangerous.”

“I know. That’s why I needed to get Mark away from there.” He let go of her hand and she tugged her vest back into place. “But they wouldn’t hurt a woman.”

“If they thought you endangered their business, you could be the queen of England and they wouldn’t care.”

She pointed at Trip with her tennis racket. “He isn’t going back there today.”

Trip glanced at Mark bouncing a tennis ball on a racquet in an open area and sighed. “At least we agree on that.” He aced a serve that left little opportunity for her to return. “I believe that means I won.”

“You said you didn’t play. Did you lie to me?” She paused to study him. Blue-striped tennis jacket, straw hat, bow tie. He knew all the tennis terms and he knew how to play the game. If she wasn’t mistaken, Trip had fooled her about playing the game before. If she’d any doubts, the way he held his Horseman wooden tennis racquet and stood on the balls of his feet when he volleyed confirmed her suspicions.

His dimples deepened, a piratelike grin marking his face. “How does it feel?”

“That isn’t nice, Trip Andrews.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t play. I said I didn’t play much.” He took her racquet, brushing her hand in the process. “Besides, you know what they say. ‘Love means nothing in tennis.’”

Trip watched Marguerite sashay to the bathhouse, her skirts swishing about her ankles. What had he just quipped? “Love means nothing in tennis”? Where did that come from? Love? It didn’t even make any sense.

If I had any brains, I would be running as fast as I can right
now. Then again, as Dad has always been quick to point out,
I’m lacking in the brain department
.

He stowed the racquets in his canvas bag, called to Mark, and led him to the men’s bathhouse so they could change as well.

“You beat her!” Mark shook his hand. “No one beats Marguerite. I bet she’s fuming.”

“She didn’t seem upset.” At least not from losing. His words, however, left her rosy-cheeked and speechless. A look he certainly could get used to.

Trip pushed open the door of the bathhouse. “Why can’t Marguerite swim?”

“Mother never let her learn. Alice, Lilly’s mom, snuck her to the pond a few times, but not enough so that she could practice.”

“But you can?”

“I’m a boy. Mom says I can do anything I want.”

So that was the injustice that ignited Marguerite’s fire. He tried to imagine what life would be like if he’d been constantly told he couldn’t do something. He’d never considered that. Thanks to his father, he understood being reminded of inadequacies, but his father had never stopped him from trying something new. In fact, if his father did anything right, it was encouraging him to face challenges head-on.

No wonder Marguerite dared to go anywhere forbidden to women. Some ladies wouldn’t think twice about such confines, but not Marguerite. Her adventurer’s heart wouldn’t allow that. Maybe that’s what drew him to her.

Fifteen minutes later, the trio entered the water. Trip ushered them away from the crush of swimmers to a more isolated area near Turtle Island. Mark dove in and swam away, leaving Trip and Marguerite staring at one another, waist-deep in the water.

“I really don’t need to swim,” Marguerite said. “You can go enjoy yourself. I’ll just sit on the beach and watch.” She dropped her gaze and made wide circles in the water with her hands.

“If you’re going to sail, you have to be able to swim.”

Snapping her head up, wide-eyed, she gaped at him. “Sail? You’re going to let me?”

“I think we can arrange it if – and I mean if – you learn to swim.” His lips curled into a grin, but he crossed his arms over his chest to appear stern. “Like I told you from the beginning, no one goes on my boat if they can’t swim.”

Her face lit up as if he’d just given her a Christmas present. “I’ll learn fast. I promise.”

“There’s no hurry.” He chuckled. “The longer it takes, the better.”