Making Waves (5 page)

Though most unladylike, Marguerite didn’t hesitate for a second. She bounced on the deck, unable to contain her excitement. “Now what do I do? Trim a sail? Swab a deck?”

Trip heard Harry and Lloyd laugh heartily, and a smile tugged at his lips. He managed to keep it from breaking free. “Have a seat over there with the others, Miss Westing, Mr. Westing. My father, Deuce Andrews, is captaining the ship. We’ll be under way in no time.”

“Isn’t there anything we need to know?” Marguerite asked.

“Oh, yeah, there’s one thing. When someone yells, ‘Duck!’ do it.”

“Duck?”

He dropped his head down to demonstrate. “You got it?”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

She flashed him a smile. “I think I can handle ducking.”

“Make sure you do. I’d hate to haul you out of the lake twice.”

Wishing she had some way to record every minute on the sailboat, Marguerite tried to memorize each man’s movements as they prepared to set sail. It took little time to learn each of the crew’s names. The curly-haired man, Harry, liked to tease Lloyd, who was skinny as a stick. Mel and Max, twin brothers, were hard to tell apart except for Max being a good five inches taller than his brother. Trip swung around the mast with ease and landed on the deck like a cat.

Even if Trip hadn’t told her, she’d have known the skipper was Trip’s father. Tall and muscular, the two men appeared to be cut from the same cloth. She smiled.
Cut from the
same sail. I have to start thinking nautically
. Both father and son sported dimples, but the father used his infrequently. He seemed to smile only when he poked fun at someone. His current target appeared to be Mel, the shortest of the crew, who struggled with securing a sail they called the “spinnaker.”

A middle-aged passenger removed his bowler and rubbed his balding head. “Captain Andrews, are you sure it won’t bring bad luck to have this young lady aboard? I thought a woman on board a ship will make the sea angry.”

“Ah, but a naked woman on board will calm the sea.” Max elbowed his brother in the side.

Marguerite’s cheeks warmed.

Captain Andrews silenced Max with a stern look. “We’ll take our chances since this is a lake and not the sea.” He made his way around the ship, inspecting the crew’s preparations and barking orders at a few of them to secure more ropes. Finally he told his son to “set her free.”

For a moment Marguerite feared he’d changed his mind and meant to set her ashore. Instead, Trip vaulted over the side and unwound the thick rope holding the cruiser’s bow. After the current carried the bow clear of the dock, he released the next set of ropes and then jumped aboard the back.

Pulse pounding, Marguerite held on to the edge of the bench she’d been assigned to. Questions filled her mind. What were the different sails for? Why did the ship lean so far to the side when the sail filled with air? But she swallowed the questions. Since they were still so close to the shore, it would be too easy for them to take the “unlucky” lady back.

“Your first time on the water?” the balding passenger beside her asked.

“Yes, is it obvious?”

“Well, I doubt most young women in Iowa have been aboard sailboats. I don’t know if I’d want my daughter risking the rigors of sailing.”

“Rigors?”

“There’s the wind and the sun, and of course the spray. You do realize you’ll probably get damp.”

She smiled and glanced at Trip. “It wouldn’t be the first time. Are you a sailor?”

“No, but my son is taking sailing lessons from the gentleman over there, and he thinks we should have our own vessel built, so I’m here to discover for myself what my son calls the ‘thrill of the sea.’”

The mainsail filled and the
Argo
suddenly picked up speed. With one hand holding her hat in place, Marguerite turned her face to the wind and watched Lloyd attach a second smaller sail up front.

“Thrill” hardly described her wildly beating heart and volcanic excitement as the ship began to cruise along. Only when she’d raced her horse when no one was looking had this kind of exhilaration surged through her. She closed her eyes and imagined floating on the breeze.

The man harrumphed, wiping the thin mist from his face with a linen handkerchief. “I don’t see what my boy is talking about. More chill than thrill.”

Didn’t he feel the freedom the wind carried? Out here, the only rules were dictated by the skipper and the water. Maybe four wood-paneled walls of an office suited this man, but it wouldn’t her. She could never get enough of this.

And in that moment, she made a decision.

She would find a way to learn to sail.

5

Flopping across the bed in her tent, Marguerite closed her eyes, trying to recall the motion of the water rolling beneath her. “Oh, Lilly, it was the most wonderful experience I’ve ever had.”

“From that grin on your face, I thought as much.” Perched in the rocking chair beside the bed, Lilly clicked her tongue. “Well, at least you got it out of your system.”

Marguerite sat up and put a knuckle to her lips.

“I know that look, and I know it means trouble. It’s like you’re doing your best to keep those words stuck in your mouth.”

“I just have to do it again, Lilly. Once could never be enough. I’m going to learn to sail.”

“And I’m going to be the queen of England.”

“Well, good, you can commission a ship for me to sail around the world, Your Majesty.” Marguerite curtsied with a flourish.

Lilly dropped her darning into the basket beside the chair. “You’re planning something, aren’t you?”

“Please, Lilly, you’ve got to understand. I need this. If I have this one summer where I really feel alive, then maybe I can endure years as the wife of a boring man.”

“Is that your way of tryin’ to convince me to help you?”

“I’m not like all the other girls who are happy to be socialites. I need more adventure and excitement.”

“And you think you need to tell me that?”

“I knew you’d understand.”

“What I understand is you’re making some wild plan up in that head of yours, and you’re planning on me helping you get it done, when what you should be doing is telling that man the truth about how you feel.”

“Mother would have a conniption if I did that.” Marguerite poured water into the washbasin, dipped her hands in, and splashed the water over her face. “So, you’ll help me?”

“Do I really have a choice?” Lilly passed her a towel.

“Of course you do.”

Lilly cocked an eyebrow at her.

“I guess you could refuse, but . . .”

“Put me out of my misery and just tell me what I have to do.”

With a grin on her face, Marguerite pulled a list from her pocket. “Besides covering for me with my mother, I need you to pick up a few things for me in town.”

An hour later, Marguerite asked Isaiah to take Lilly to town in the wagon to obtain the needed items. Marguerite hurried to meet her mother for lunch at one of the local restaurants. A waiter dressed in a double-breasted white jacket held the door for her as she entered. She paused to scan the room: fine linen tablecloths, lovely view of the lake’s rippling waters, fresh flowers on the tables, a host of dapper young waiters – and Roger Gordon. Her mother’s dream. Her worst nightmare.

Her mother waved her over. Taking a solidifying breath, Marguerite made her way to the table.

“Roger, what a surprise.” She allowed him to pull out her chair.

“The good kind, I hope.”

Not unless you intend to tell me you’re entering the priesthood
. She forced a weak smile.

“I came to meet with my investment partners. We have big plans for the Midway, and perhaps some other financially beneficial endeavors.” He slid the chair beneath her. “Then I ran into your mother, and she was kind enough to ask me to join you both.” Before returning to his seat, he bent and kissed Marguerite’s cheek. The thick mustache tickled, and she cringed.

“Isn’t it a treat, darling?” Unfolding her napkin, her mother smoothed out its wrinkles in her lap. “Marguerite, how did your cheeks become so pink? Have you been out without a parasol?”

“A little sun won’t hurt me, Mother. I intend to go wading this afternoon.”

“In the lake?”

“No, Mother, in a bathtub.”

“Don’t be petulant.”

“Yes, in the lake.” Marguerite snapped her napkin to the side and laid it on her lap, deliberately leaving a few wrinkles. Her mother’s turned-down mouth sent a silent thrill through her. “Haven’t you noticed swimming is a regular pastime here? Remember the new bathing costume I purchased in town? I’m dying to try it out.”

“Perhaps Roger would care to join you.”

She turned to him and raised her eyebrows. This could liven things up. “Do you swim?”

“No. I don’t care for the water, and I’m not sure I approve of you carousing with the commoners in such a manner.” His spectacles slid to the end of his nose.

“Excuse me?” Even wading? Did he want to suck every last bit of fun from her life?

“Marguerite, you’re young and naive.” Her mother graced Roger with a practiced social smile. “All sorts of people swimming together is hardly proper. I’m sure you can entertain yourself with more acceptable things to do.”

“Yes, that’s it.” Roger pushed up his spectacles. “Something befitting a young woman of your position.”

She gaped at them. For several seasons now, the lake had entertained hundreds of people. Young and old, rich and poor, men and women, enjoyed the water. There had been a time when genders remained separated, but it was 1895. Times had changed. At least, they had here at the lake. What did her mother expect her to do? Be content with milling about with the socialites, displaying their season’s finery like plumage?

Her mother’s frown deepened. “I agree with Roger. I think I shall have to forbid this foray.”

“What would be more acceptable, Mother? Sailing?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Ladies do not sail.”

“I did.” She cocked an eyebrow, lifting her chin in defiance and fighting the smirk trying to come to the surface. “Today. On the
Argo
. Father took me.”

Her mother’s face paled while Roger’s colored a vivid shade of crimson.

“H-h-how could you?” he asked. “What will people say?”

“No one will say anything, and I don’t care if they do. I found it to be most exhilarating.”

Roger scowled. “Mrs. Westing, what are you going to do with her?”

Her mother lifted a water goblet to her lips with shaky fingers and sipped from it. “I simply don’t believe you. You’re saying this to shock us so we’ll approve of your intentions to swim in the lake. A greater evil to make a lesser one look more appealing. I know for certain that no man would let a lady sail on his vessel.”

“Of course. I should have realized your ploy, my dear.” Roger laughed. “Never enough to keep you entertained, is there? That will change soon enough.”

Although she’d enjoyed watching them both squirm – much more than she should have – the effect was short-lived. Her mother’s ability to shroud her emotions in a veil of propriety never ceased to amaze Marguerite. She ached for a genuine reaction – a mother’s honest concern, a shared moment of laughter, even anger. Any of it would fill the empty space in her heart.

The conversation effectively dismissed, Camille and Roger began to discuss the unseasonably warm weather.

Marguerite released a long sigh. She would share no more about the day. Roger would not hear about the thrill that had surged through her on the water. She would keep the yearning to repeat the experience a secret. Her secret. Roger would call it a childish whim, and her mother would be mortified at the thought. Neither of them cared about what made her happy, so neither deserved to know the desires of her heart.

Fresh pain seared her. Perhaps it was better that her mother didn’t believe her, because that way she wouldn’t question her comings and goings. Besides, keeping the truth hidden was the Westing family motto, and no one did it better than her mother. Whenever anything occurred that her mother thought might tarnish the Westing image, no matter how insignificant, she was quick to admonish Marguerite and her siblings to keep the event a secret. It simply wouldn’t do for Camille Westing to be seen in an unflattering light.

The sound of laughter from the entryway drew Marguerite’s attention. She spotted Trip Andrews and his crew entering the dining room. Harry appeared to tease Trip and then rough up his sun-kissed sandy brown hair. Trip caught her gaze and gave her a broad, dimpled grin. Quickly she averted her eyes. The last thing she needed right now was for Trip to saunter to their table and greet her.

The waiter arrived and Roger ordered for all three of them. Fried beefsteak, mashed potatoes drenched in white gravy, and egg custard. Colorless. Bland. Ordinary.

She moaned inwardly.

Lord, I can’t live in his mashed potato world. I need my
tubers scalloped and diced and baked and fried and different
every time. I need excitement and change as much as I need air.
I know what I’m planning is deceptive, but You understand.
After all, You made me this way. Right?