Making Waves (31 page)

She dropped her gaze. “It doesn’t make a difference. I have to do it.”

“What’s going on?” His tone icy, he glared at her. “And don’t lie to me. Remember, I know that’s one of your specialties.”

“That isn’t fair.”

“Why? Hasn’t this all been an act? Another lie?”

“No!”

“But you’re willing to marry a man you don’t love.”

“My father is broke. We have nothing. My father said that if I don’t accept Roger’s marriage proposal, Roger will withdraw his business deal and we’ll be penniless. I can’t do that to my family.” Energy drained, she slid onto the bench. “So you see, that’s why I can’t see you anymore. I have to do this to save my family. It’s the way it has to be.”

Trip clenched the railing, his chest heaving. “What happened is your father’s problem, not yours. I told you before he has to get himself out of it.”

“Wouldn’t you do anything for your father?”

“I wouldn’t lie for him.”

“But that’s where we’re different, as you’ve so aptly told me. I would lie for mine.”

He spun toward her, eyes flashing. “You’re going to get caught in your web of lies like my mother did hers.”

“Trip, try to understand.”

“I understand perfectly. You’re just like her. You say you love me, but then you leave.”

21

With eyes puffy from a day’s worth of crying, Marguerite slipped into the horrid purple dress with the tight-fitting high collar, anticipating Roger’s return at any minute.

Trip had brought her home the previous night in complete silence. The stony look in his eyes made her heart ache, and his words haunted her dreams.
You’re just like my mother.
You say you love me, but then you leave
. They sliced at her resolve, and the wound had festered during the night.

Why couldn’t he see she didn’t have a choice? Did he think she desired to marry a man who brought her no joy? She didn’t want this any more than he did, but it simply had to be.

Roger stepped into the open area, and she forced herself to rise from her seat in the wicker rocker. She swallowed hard. “Roger, welcome back.”

“It’s good to be home.” His eyes raked her hungrily. “I’ve missed you. You look lovely.”

She shivered despite the heat of the evening.

“I’ve reserved a table for us at the Pelican Bay restaurant.” The caterpillar mustache wiggled under his nose. “Are you ready?”

No, I’ll never be ready
. She glanced at the sky rapidly filling with clouds.
God, don’t You think this is a good time for a
lightning strike? I’ll be happy to move out of the way
.

He moved closer and kissed her cheek. Then, without offering his arm, he grabbed her hand and stuffed it in the crook of his elbow. He covered it with his own and held it fast. “I spoke to your father.” His voice was laced with arrogance, as if he’d won a game.

She tugged at the itchy lace collar strangling her neck. “I’m sure that was an enlightening experience.”

“It was.”

Roger had a one-sided discussion about the state of affairs in the economy on their walk to the restaurant inside the pavilion. Once there, he ordered for them.

Shoving the oysters around on her plate, Marguerite sighed. She hated oysters. Slimy things. Like swallowing chunks of worms.

“You don’t care for oysters?” Roger slurped one from its shell.

“Not really.”

“You should have said something.”

“I don’t believe I was given the chance.”

He frowned, his bushy eyebrows bunching over his nose.

Then, after polishing off a bowl of egg custard, he asked her to become his wife.

No flowery expressions. No words of love. Not a single touch of elegance. He spoke matter-of-factly, like he was talking about the weather, but with a presumptuous assurance that she’d accept.

Her stomach roiled, and she balled her napkin in her lap. If she answered no right now, this misery would end, but thoughts of her parents, Mark, and Lilly flashed through her mind. She squeezed her eyes shut.

Lord, help me do what I have to do
.

With granite resolve, she steeled herself with a deep breath and whispered the words that would seal her fate. “Yes, Roger, I’ll marry you.”

“I don’t think I’ve seen you looking this bad since you had to haul me out of Stone’s ditch.” Harry handed Trip a handful of copper nails. “It’s been three days since you lost the regatta, and you haven’t said boo since the ball. If I had to venture a guess, which apparently I do, I’d say you and Marguerite had a falling out.”

Pocketing most of the nails, Trip slipped a few between his teeth. Of all the days he should have taken off, today would have been it. When Harry sensed a newsworthy occurrence, he was like a dog with its teeth sunk into a ham bone. Trip braced the cedar plank with his knee and bent it around the new boat’s skeletal frame. Striking the nail full force, Trip hammered it in place in one swing.

“Impressive. Maybe we should get you angry more often. We’d get a lot more done.”

Trip glared at his friend, then removed another nail from between his teeth and pounded it in the same way.

Lifting a board from the corner pile, Harry brought it over to where the two of them worked. “Okay, if you aren’t going to tell me, I’ll be forced to guess.” Harry passed the board to Trip.

Trip aligned it with the last board and used a pencil to mark the places that needed to be shaved to make it fit perfectly. Moving to the workbench, he began to chisel the marked area.

How could Marguerite do this?

His anger surged and he gouged the wood. He tossed the worthless piece of lumber in the corner. Worthless. Like her. “Get me another one.”

Harry chuckled and retrieved one. “Here you go – seeing as you asked so nicely. Okay, I know you’re mad as a hornet, so I’m guessing she probably lied to you again.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Trip growled.

Relax. It’s not Harry’s fault
. He remeasured the plank. Why didn’t the physical exertion quell the fury he felt, as it usually did? How could he explain what he was feeling even to his best friend?
Well, Harry, she said she loved me, but she
didn’t mean it any more that my own mother did
. It sounded childish and much too simplified for the situation.

The more he thought about it, the more enraged he became with her, her father, and the whole mess. He’d been a fool to let himself get involved with the whole lot of them. After the boating accident, he should have listened to that inner voice that said he should have nothing to do with her.

He took a deep, steadying breath. He needed to give Harry something or he’d keep on for days. “She just didn’t turn out to be who I thought she was.”

Harry took the chiseled board, placed the new board against the hull, and nailed his end in place. “You know, Trip, someday you’re going to have to realize that we’re all just human.” He stood and scratched his cheek. “If we’re lucky, God blesses us with a few folks who are willing to look beyond the flaws and see the person we try so hard to hide. And if we’re blessed, we find someone who’ll love us anyway.”

Before Trip could argue, Harry walked away. Scooping up his canteen, Trip downed a good half, tasting the slightly acrid influence of the metal. He screwed the lid back in place. Did Harry think Trip’s expectations of Marguerite ruined everything? He wanted to shout, “She chose to marry another man!”

Trip threw the half-filled canteen toward the workbench. It hit the edge and clattered to the floor. Everyone in the shop turned to stare.

“What are you looking at?” He glowered at all of them. “It’s over, and I don’t want to hear another word.”

Chest constricting, he strode through the workshop’s back doors. He kicked an empty pail on the dock, and it clattered across the boards before splashing into the lake. He climbed aboard the
Endeavor
. With a sigh, he sank down on one of the seats and held his head in his hands. He was done with her. Finished.

I survived without my mother, and I’ll do just fine without
Marguerite Westing
.

Besides, by now she belonged to another man.

Riding in the open-air streetcar back into the city, Marguerite bit her lip to keep the tears from escaping. The streetcar neared her stop, and she and her father stood. He cupped her elbow and lifted her overstuffed carpetbag, which held her unmentionables, two shirtwaists, a skirt, and Trip’s jacket she had yet to return.

“A couple of days with your sister will do you wonders, Maggie,” he said as they stepped onto the cobblestone street.

And so would a one-way ticket to the West Indies, but that
would take money we don’t have anymore. Right, Daddy?
Her heart squeezed and a tear fell from her eye. The past few days she’d lived in a fog. Her mother had been thrilled by the engagement and insisted on telling everyone, and each time she did, Marguerite’s hopes that something would save her died a little more.

Maybe a few days away from the lake would help – not seeing the boats, not seeing her father, and definitely not seeing Roger.

Or Trip. She missed him more than she thought possible. If she went to him, maybe . . .

But he must hate her now.

She let her father lead her up the familiar streets toward her sister’s home. He huffed as they made their way along Broadway and then up the hill on Willow.

He stopped halfway up on Mary’s porch steps and kissed her cheek. “I’ll say my goodbyes here.”

“Aren’t you coming in for a moment? Mary will want to see you.”

“Not today.” He wiped his sweaty brow with a handkerchief. “Enjoy your time, but remember, Marguerite, you don’t need to tell her everything.”

She nodded. Earlier he’d made it clear that her sister knew nothing of the events at the lake, and he expected her to keep it that way.

“Yes, Father, I know all about keeping secrets.”

She watched him leave before she knocked on the door.

Mary opened it and gathered her into her arms. “I’m so glad you’ve come.” She linked Marguerite’s arm and led her inside. “Nellie can’t wait to see you. I’ve missed you so much this summer.”

Marguerite set down her carpetbag. “Thank you for letting me come visit on such short notice. I hope it isn’t an imposition to you.”

“Nonsense.” Mary held her at arm’s length. “Let me look at you. I can’t believe my little sister is an engaged woman. The summer sun has lightened your hair.” She paused and her brows drew together. “And apparently it’s stolen the shine from your eyes. Oh dear, this is worse than I thought.”

As tempted as she was to lie and say nothing, Marguerite couldn’t do that anymore. “Can we talk about it later?”

Her sister seemed to study her for a second, as if deciding whether she wanted to press the point. “Later then. For now, let’s get you settled and then have lemonade on the veranda.”

Marguerite glanced around in search of her four-year-old niece. “Where’s Nellie?”

“Napping. She’ll be awake in an hour or so. Actually, why don’t you go lie down too? You look like you could use a little extra rest.”

A yawn escaped and Marguerite smiled. “I think you’re right.”

“Older sisters generally are.” She motioned toward the winding staircase. “We set up the pink toile room for you. It has the nicest breeze at night. Go on up and make yourself at home.”

“Thank you.” Marguerite climbed the stairs, found the room, and set down her carpetbag.

Days of overtaxed emotions had left her drained, and it didn’t take long for sleep to claim her in the soft feather bed. She awoke with a start to a dim room and a gnawing stomach. She checked her watch and was surprised to see it read 7:00. Why hadn’t Mary wakened her?

After a quick check of her hair, Marguerite hurried down the stairs and made her way through Mary’s well-furnished parlor. She followed the sounds of her niece’s giggles to the veranda.

As soon as she spotted her aunt, Nellie scampered away from the ever-patient black Labrador, Hero.

Marguerite squatted and gathered the toddler in her arms. “How’s my princess?”

Nellie giggled. “Auntie Margweet, you wanna play hide-and-seek?”

“Nellie, let Aunt Marguerite have her supper,” Mary said. “Why don’t you go inside and ask Miss Beulah to bring out your aunt’s plate?”