Making Waves (36 page)

“So she doesn’t love this Gordon?”

“I don’t think she even likes him.”

His father frowned, deepening the wrinkles on his weathered face. “I may not be the best father in the world, but there’s no way on God’s green earth that I’d let you suffer the rest of your life because of my mistakes.”

“I know you wouldn’t.” Trip glanced at her. She’d removed her hair pins, and her long gilded locks reached past her waist. He swallowed hard. “But it has to be her decision.”

“Can’t you at least do a little persuading?”

“Dad, believe me, I’m going to try.”

Marguerite watched Trip jog down the pier, dive off the end, and glide into the water without a splash. Surfacing, he tossed his head back. “Why are you still sitting there?”

She wrinkled her nose. “How deep is the water?”

“At the end, it’ll be up to that pretty little sailor collar, but you’ll do fine.” Moving closer, he held out his arms. “Jump.”

Marguerite did. Trip caught her in his arms, lowered her feet until they touched the silt-covered bottom, and then released her. The moment his hands left her waist, she wished them back. So much of the last few weeks had been tumultuous, filled with threats and fears. But when Trip held her, she felt secure and safe.

You’re engaged. Stop daydreaming about Trip like a
schoolgirl
.

He motioned to the open water. “Show me what you can do.”

“You want me to swim?”

“You said you’ve been practicing.” He grinned, his eyes daring her. “Or was that a lie too?”

Marguerite frowned. “Lilly’s been teaching me.”

“Good. Then let’s see it.”

She took a deep breath and awkwardly propelled herself forward. Lilly’s admonitions rang in her ears.
Reach with
your arms in big circles in front of you. Kick with your legs
like scissors
. After covering about six yards, she stood up. “Well?”

“She taught you the rescue stroke. Good work. Can you do the crawl too? The one I showed you.”

“Sort of, but I have to get my face in the water for that.” She wrinkled her nose again.

“You don’t have to, but it’s a lot easier if you do. As a matter of fact, Miss Flour Freckle, I’m thinking that getting your face wet is a good idea.”

She wiped a remaining smudge of flour from his forehead. “That’s the pot calling the kettle black.”

“Okay, I’ll race you back to the dock.”

“I can’t beat you.”

“Not up to a challenge?”

Hoping to gain an edge, she catapulted forward. Despite her rapid departure, she knew he’d still overtake her, but at least it gave her a modicum of a chance. When she reached the pier, she found him waiting. She held onto its edge and tossed her head back. “That isn’t fair.”

“Life isn’t fair, Marguerite.”

“You’re telling me.” Her words came out laced with bitterness. What was she doing? Being with Trip made her say things she shouldn’t, feel things she’d given up, and think about things she’d already put to rest. She quickly swam away as fast and as far as she could.

“Hey, Marguerite, catch!”

She whirled and a ball landed directly in front of her, splashing her face. Using both hands, she swiped away the water. “This means war, Trip Andrews.” She yanked up the ball and headed for him.

Just friends
.

Remember that
.

Spiking the ball in front of him caused a fountain of water to hit him squarely in the face, giving him the perfect reason to retaliate. She knew he would. Maybe that’s what she wanted.

She shouldn’t want it. But she did.

After an enjoyable afternoon of working and then swimming with Trip, the evening with Roger seemed even more tedious. As a belated birthday gift, he insisted on taking her into the city for dinner at his home, followed by a performance at the Dohany Opera House.

His mother had their cook prepare a special dinner. Even though she and Mrs. Gordon tried to discuss the Water Carnival plans, Roger monopolized the conversation and insisted on her complete attention. To her surprise, Mrs. Gordon accompanied them to the performance of the play
Alabama
in the newly restored theater, and introduced her to many acquaintances as her son’s fiancée. A few offered the couple congratulations, and Roger’s chest puffed with pride.

The play, a Civil War story, transported Marguerite to another place and time. However, all too soon it was over, and once again she found herself on the arm of dreary Roger Gordon. After escorting his mother home, they took the streetcar back to Lake Manawa.

When Marguerite made a genuine attempt to engage Roger in a conversation about the moving play, he brushed her off, saying the play was a melodramatic waste of time.

Marguerite tried again. “Your mother is delightful.”

“She approves of you.” The streetcar halted and he pulled her to her feet. “She means the world to me. If anyone ever disappoints her, I’ll . . .”

He let his words die like the setting sun. Did she sense another threat? Just how far would Roger go to get what he wanted?

He walked her back to her camp and leaned in for a less than chaste kiss. Marguerite squirmed free of his embrace and distanced herself.

“We’re engaged, Marguerite. You can kiss me with a little more passion than that.”

She clenched her hands together.
If I felt any passion for
you, then I might be able to
. “I’m sorry, Roger, my thoughts are elsewhere this evening.”

“With that ridiculous Water Carnival.”

“Yes, of course I’m thinking about it. It’s only a few days away, and I have a lot of responsibilities. But I’m enjoying the planning a great deal. I’d like to do more of these events in the future.” She stopped when Roger’s eyes darkened, hooded with a desire that made her shiver. “Roger, are you listening to me?”

Without warning, he grabbed her face in both hands. “You are so beautiful. I can’t believe you belong to me.”

She tried to pull back, but he held fast. “Belong to you?”

Crushing her lips, he kissed her again, the feel of his shaggy mustache making her nauseous. She brought her hands up between them and pushed him away. “Roger, you will refrain from that kind of indulgence until we are married. Is that clear?”

He snickered. “Sure, Marguerite. Until then.”

For Marguerite, the next three days were a blur of activity. Each morning, she worked on various aspects of the Water Carnival. The shipment of fireworks arrived, and Trip and some of the men began planning out the pyrotechnic display, which would imitate the naval battle firing between the boats and forts. Phyllis Dodge, the supervisor for those making Chinese paper lanterns, bedecked every nook and cranny of the Yacht Club with one of her elaborate creations. Marguerite flitted from one area to the next, checking on the progress of the committee assigned there. Excitement coursed through them all like the electricity that powered the streetcars.

But it was the afternoons Marguerite relished. Two blessed hours spent with Trip, and often the rest of the crew, painting the papier-mâché pieces for the
USS Marguerite
. Thankfully she’d persuaded Trip to call it simply the
USS Maggie
. Since only her father called her that, it couldn’t possibly upset Roger.

Marguerite hurried to gather her things inside the Yacht Club. Today she and Trip would be putting the final touches on the boat, and she couldn’t wait.

Stepping outside the crowded Yacht Club into the warm afternoon, she paused and took a deep breath. Even the lake air seemed laced with anticipation.

“Hello, Marguerite.”

She jolted. “Roger, what are you doing here?”

He rose from the park bench and faced her. “Can’t I come to see my fiancée?”

“Yes, of course, but you know how busy I am.” She attempted to step around him, but he caught her arm.

“Perhaps I could help.”

“Do you paint?”

He chuckled. “No, I can’t say that I do.”

“Then perhaps you can go inside and help the men plan the fireworks display. A group of them are gathered in the parlor.”

“And where are you headed?”

“To the boat shop. There’s a boat there that needs a few last-minute touches.”

“That only you can provide.”

“As a matter of fact, yes.” She attempted to step around him.

He caught her shoulders, pulled her close, and kissed her lips.

When he released her, she covered her lips with her hand. “What do you think you’re doing? We’re in public!”

Roger looked over her shoulder, his lips curling in a triumphant smirk.

She turned to see who or what had his attention. Trip. Hurt flickered in his eyes, and his roguish pirate smile melted from his face like candle wax.

Roger tapped her nose. “I guess my work here is done.”

Whirling away from both of them, Marguerite held her hand flat against her roiling stomach. The acidic taste in her mouth foretold the future – what she’d face day after day with Roger.

Run. Somewhere. Anywhere
.

She raced around one of the many ice sheds to be alone and propped her hand against the rough wall. Taking great gulps of air, she tried to quell her churning stomach and whirlwind of emotions.

A man’s hand on her shoulder made her spin around, much too quickly. The face before her rippled, and she swayed.

“Whoa.” Trip steadied her. “You okay?”

She nodded but didn’t pull free from his hand. “I just got dizzy.”

“Are you ill? You look pale.” Genuine concern etched his amber-streaked eyes.

“Not the way you think.”

His expression said he wanted to ask questions, but instead he took hold of her elbow. “Let’s get you out of the sun and someplace cooler.”

To her great relief, he didn’t take her back to the boardwalk. Rather, he followed the worn path that led to the back of the boat house. Inside, he helped her into a chair.

“Why does she look like a haint?” Harry asked as soon as they came into the shop. “She okay?”

“Can you get her a glass of cold water? With some ice? I think all of the excitement and the heat is getting to her.”

“Sure, Trip. You sit tight with Marguerite. I’ll be right back.”

She pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed at the moisture forming on her upper lip. “Really, Trip, I’m fine now.”

His brow knit together in a deep frown, making him look a great deal like his father. After fetching a cloth from the workbench, he dipped it in a water bucket and wrung it out. He drew up a stool and sat facing her. “I hate seeing you like this.”

“I’m sorry, but it hasn’t happened often.”

“That isn’t what I meant.” He touched the cloth to her cheek.

Marguerite leaned into his hand and prayed the cool rag would settle her churning stomach.

“Marguerite, you can’t keep lying.”

“I haven’t lied to you.”

“I saw him kiss you.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” She lifted her face, and he set the damp cloth aside. “Trip, I never meant for that to happen, but I haven’t lied to you about him.”

“The only person you’re lying to is yourself. You don’t love that man, and being with him is making you sick inside and out. You can’t keep living a lie.”