Making Waves

by Lorna Seilstad

  “Your job?”

  So they’d come to this place again – their greatest source of disagreement. Why did Edward always have to force her to be the strict parent? Didn’t he see that Marguerite played them against one another?

  “I’m her mother, Edward, and I truly want what’s best for her. She’s only a girl. She can’t possibly know what is best for her, but as her parents we are supposed to know.”

  He rubbed his hand over his bearded chin. “You’re probably right.”

  “That shouldn’t surprise you.” She smiled and inclined her head in his direction. “And if you continue to indulge her unorthodox tendencies, Roger may begin to see her as unmanageable.”

  “If he thinks he can manage Marguerite, he is in for a surprise.” He crossed his arms over his chest, making no attempt to hide his delight in that fact.

  “That’s exactly what I’m talking about.” She frowned. “We need to take her in hand.”

  Leaning forward, he clasped her hand in his. Drinking in the softness in his eyes, she felt her heart warm. This charismatic charmer had been her undoing from the start.

  “Camille, dear, she doesn’t love him.”

  She cupped his cheek, feeling the bristly whiskers on her sensitive hand. “Once Marguerite discovers the truth about Roger – how he can give her so many things and make her feel secure – she’ll be as happy in her marriage as I am in mine.”

  “And as I am in mine.” His eyes sparkled, and he winked again.

  “That won’t get you out of this. Why did you let her go sailing, of all things?”

  “Her heart was so set on it.”

  “And of course you couldn’t tell her no.”

  “I didn’t feel I needed to.” He brought the back of her hand to his lips. “It was simply a boat trip around the lake.”

  “Edward, please try to understand. It’s imperative that Marguerite present herself as a suitable wife.”

  He released a long breath. “All right, my dear, I admit it’s difficult for me to disappoint her. Can you fault me if I like to make the women in my life happy?”

  “I suppose that’s true. So unless you want her to be an old maid, in the future perhaps you should defer to me in matters concerning Marguerite.”

  Lifting her fingers to his lips, he kissed them. “I place her in your capable hands, darling. Will you forgive me?”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  He placed another kiss in her palm. “Then perhaps you’ll allow me to persuade you.”

  Wearing his red Union-style bathing suit, Mark dove off the stern of the sunken steamer and resurfaced seconds later. Marguerite watched from her spot in the sand, trying to decide how to best approach the topic of Mark taking sailing lessons.

  Somehow she had to make her brother believe he’d come up with the idea on his own. If he thought she wanted him to do it, he’d never willingly participate. And while she had a sufficient pile of blackmail material for everyday use, she didn’t have enough to persuade him that far.

  “Come on in the water, Marguerite,” Mark called. “You can’t learn to swim on the beach.”

  She glanced at the cool water and pressed her hands to her sun-warmed cheeks. Mark jogged toward her, and at the last second he bent and sent a shower of water in her direction.

  Marguerite sputtered and wiped the water from her eyes. “Mark! Why did you do that?”

  “Now you’re already wet, so you don’t have no excuse not to come in.”

  “Any excuse,” she corrected. As she stepped toward him, the water seeped through her wool stockings and her legs instantly felt weighted. Mark, possibly sensing her intention, moved farther into the lake. The desire to retaliate ran deep, and she moved farther into the water until it reached her waist.

  “Well, well, well, what are you going to do now, sis?” Mark darted around her.

  “You know exactly what I plan to do.” She lunged at him and water flew in the air.

  Mark easily sidestepped the barrage. “You were saying?”

  “Mark Westing, so help me – ”

  He made a perfect surface dive. Suddenly something gripped her ankle. She screamed.

  Mark popped up in front of her, laughing. “Gotcha!”

  “I’m going to ring your scrawny little neck, Mark Westing!”

  Half an hour later, they sat side by side on the beach, sopping wet. She still hadn’t managed to douse him, but she had been thoroughly initiated into Lake Manawa.

  “Isn’t this place grand?” Mark lay back in the sand and stretched his arms above his head.

  Marguerite, arms wrapped around her knees, saw an opening. “And there’s so much to do.”

  “And explore.”

  Perfect. Just the direction she wanted him to go. “What would you like to explore?”

  “Caves. Think there are any caves around here?”

  “There aren’t a lot of caves in Iowa, Mark. What else?”

  “Indian trails. There are lots of those. I already found two arrowheads. Do you want to see them? One was little but the other was a big one. Isaiah said it might have even been a spearhead. I’ll show them to you when we get back.”

  She smiled. “I’d like that. Is there anything else you’d like to do while you’re here at the lake?”

  “Not really.”

  Marguerite hit her head against her knees. Didn’t Mark see the whole exciting world stretched before him? She needed a new approach.

  “Mark, did I tell you what I was able to do this morning?”

  “What?” He stood and skipped a stone across the water. It bounced – once, twice, three times – before sinking into the lake.

  “Daddy took me sailing on the Argo.”

  He whirled to face her. “Why you? Why not me?”

  She shrugged. “Maybe you’re not old enough to sail.”

  “I am too. I could sail if I wanted to.”

  She sucked in the sides of her cheeks to keep from grinning. Like taking candy from a baby. “I don’t know about that. They don’t usually let boys take sailing lessons.”

  “I’m hardly a boy. I’m almost thirteen.”

  “You’ll be thirteen in eight months.” She paused, seeing him fidget beside her. “So you really want to learn to sail?”

  “Yeah.” He stood and brushed the sand from his behind. “I do.”

  “So, when are you going to ask Daddy?”

  “Me?” His voice cracked. “I was thinking maybe you’d ask him for me, seeing as how you know all about sailing now, that is.”

  Marguerite swallowed a giggle and stood up. “I guess I do know what it’s like to be told I can’t do something. I suppose I could try to talk to Daddy for you. I could tell him how responsible you’re becoming.”

  “And what a good swimmer I am.”

  “Yes, that too.” She gathered her overdress and shoes. “But only if you’re certain it’s what you want to do.”

  “Absolutely.” He crossed his arms over his puffed-out chest. “Captain Mark Westing. It has a ring to it, doesn’t it? This is my best adventure idea yet.”

  She tipped her head back and laughed. “Sure, Mark. Whatever you say.”

  6

  “But Daddy, he truly wants to learn to sail.” Marguerite slipped into the seat beside her father on the streetcar.

  “Of course he does. What boy wouldn’t want to be on the water? But he’s young and impetuous, Marguerite. Some of his stunts have made yours look like catnaps.” He chuckled. “Remember when he decided he wanted to be a snake charmer?”

  Marguerite moaned. “I thought poor Alice was going to fall over dead when she opened that basket.”

  “And what about when he decided he could have honey all the time if he kept bees in his bedroom?”

  “I didn’t know that Mother could run that fast.” Marguerite giggled.

  “So you see why I can’t trust Mark out on a boat alone?”

  Biting her lip, Marguerite took a deep breath. It was now or n
ever. “I have an idea of how Mark could learn to sail and, at the same time, be chaperoned sufficiently.”

  Her father shook open the morning newspaper, absently telling her to go on.

  “I’ll oversee his lessons.”

  He looked at her over the top of the paper. “You? Your mother would have my hide.”

  “She wouldn’t have to know.” Placing a hand on his arm, she hurried to continue. “Daddy, if we just let Mark try this, he will probably have it out of his system by the end of the week and be off on some other tangent. But if you forbid it, I’m afraid he’ll sneak around and get himself in all kinds of trouble.”

  “Hmmm. You have a point.” His crystal blue eyes bore into hers. “But if Roger was unhappy with you taking one trip on a boat, what would he say if he found out you were supervising your brother’s lessons?”

  “I don’t care what he says.”

  Her father’s eyes narrowed. “Your mother certainly does.”

  “Then I won’t let him know.”

  “So, you’re willing to sneak around on both your mother and the man you’re courting in order to do this. You must love your brother even more than I realized.”

  He knows. I know he knows. He sees right through me. Any minute he’s going to let me have it. Double-barrel. Marguerite diverted her eyes to the window and watched the oak trees pass. Now what am I going to do?

  “So,” he continued, “if I let Mark do this and I allow you to supervise his studies, then how exactly will I keep this little experiment from your mother?”

  Marguerite coughed into her handkerchief. Was he playing with her? “Well, I thought perhaps Mark and I could go cycling each morning. After all, it is good for one’s lungs.”

  “It is indeed.” He lifted an eyebrow. “And you would need to wear appropriate clothes for cycling.”

  “Yes, sir. I guess I would.”

  “And your one cycling outfit will hardly do, so that would be why you are going to town with me today – to purchase additional cycling clothes.”

  She nodded.

  “And I’m sure you’d both be home before lunch every day.”

  “We would.” A smile split her face.

  “And how much will this little venture cost me?”

  “I’m not sure. I haven’t spoken to Mr. Andrews about it yet.”

  “Your rescuer? Good choice. Tell Mr. Andrews that I’m willing to pay double if he’ll let you oversee Mark’s lessons – from on board the boat, of course.”

  “Daddy, how can I thank – ”

  His lips curled and his eyes twinkled. “I hope Mark has a good time.”

  Wearing boys’ leather Wellington boots beneath her russet divided skirt, Marguerite pedaled her bicycle down the wide, dirt-packed path toward the boathouse. The boots, along with a matching pair for Mark, who rode beside her, were part of the errand she’d sent Lilly on two days before. Moving around on the deck of a sailboat in her regular heeled shoes could be fatal.

  The sun blinked at them through the canopy of trees as they rode. Even this early in the morning, the park was beginning to come to life, and excitement bubbled in her like a bathtub filled with too much soap.

  Lord, thank You for this perfect day. It has Your seal of approval stamped on it.

  “You lied to Mother,” Mark said in his all-too-familiar I’m-going-to-use-this-later voice.

  “Do you want to learn to sail or not?” Marguerite negotiated a turn in the path and Mark followed. A prick of guilt stabbed her. “Besides, it was just a little white lie. No harm done.”

  “I could have asked her. I bet she would have told me yes.” Mark pulled beside her.

  His emphasis on the word me chafed. “Oh, I’m sure she would have let you do it since she lets you do anything you want. However, she wouldn’t have agreed to let me supervise you, and if you recall, that was Father’s stipulation.”

  “But it’s dumb. I don’t need a nanny.” He leaned back on the seat and let go of the handlebars.

  “Just like you don’t need anyone to tell you to put your hands back on the bicycle before you fall off and crack your head open?”

  She didn’t have to see his face to know he’d rolled his eyes at her. She shook her head but noticed he’d returned his hands to their proper position. Did he always have to be so obstinate?

  “Mark, you don’t have a nanny. You have an older sister who wants you to have a pleasant adventure and to keep safe in the process.” And if I happen to learn to sail while you’re at it, then so be it. Her heart quickened at the thought, and she picked up her speed.

  Ahead of them loomed the redbrick Manawa Yacht Club wrapped in white trim. Beside it stood a humble wooden structure.

  “That’s the boat shop. Now, when we get inside, you let me do the talking.” Marguerite slowed her bicycle as they drew near.

  Suddenly Mark darted in front of her. She swerved to avoid a collision, but unable to stop, she slammed into a park bench. The bicycle’s rear tire lifted, throwing her over the handlebars.

  Somersaulting, she rolled to a stop in the grass and then sat up, shaking her rattled head. She pressed the palm of her hand to her forehead. Though her hat was askew and her skirt was torn, a quick inventory told her nothing was broken. She poked her finger through the hole in her new cycling outfit. Here I thought You were on my side today, Lord.

  A shadow passed overhead, and Marguerite looked up.

  “Mr. Andrews!”

  “Miss Westing.” A lopsided, dimpled grin reached his hazel eyes. “Nice of you to drop in. You’re not injured, are you?”

  “I’m fine.” She puffed the hair from her eyes and flicked a piece of grass from her cropped jacket.

  “Good.” He offered his hand and pulled her to her feet.

  Only then did she notice Mark’s peals of laughter. She glared at him, but it did little to squash his chuckling. “Hey, you can’t blame me. That was better than a vaudeville act.”

  “Excuse him, Mr. Andrews. He’s normally much more polite.” She smoothed her divided skirt and then caught the twinkle in the sailing instructor’s hazel eyes. “And for your information, we didn’t drop in. Well, perhaps I did, but that isn’t why we’re here. We – my brother and I – came for sailing lessons. I don’t mean we, I mean my brother wants to take them, and I’m to supervise. That’s why we’re here. To arrange for the lessons. When can we – I mean Mark – begin?” Fireflies flitted in her stomach. What had turned her into a babbling idiot?

  Trip righted her bicycle and propped it against the park bench located only yards from the front door of the boat shop. “Miss Westing, I don’t think I understood a word of that after ‘We came for sailing lessons.’”

  “Me.” Mark dismounted and stood beside her with his bike still in hand. He jabbed a thumb into his chest. “I came for lessons, but my dad won’t let me take them unless she gets to be on the boat too.”

  “This is your brother?” he asked Marguerite.

  “Yes, this is Mark. Mark, say hello to Mr. Andrews.”

  Mark stuck out his hand and Trip shook it.

  “And why won’t your father let him take lessons alone?” Trip eyed the boy suspiciously.

  Marguerite straightened Mark’s collar. “He’s a bit impetuous.” “I can watch out for that. No need for you to come along.”

  “That’s what I said.” Mark looked up at her. “I don’t need a nursemaid.”

  “Mark.” Her voice dropped in warning, and she tucked an errant strand of wispy hair behind her ear. “My father forbids him from taking lessons unless I’m on board as well to oversee his instruction.”

  “In that case, the answer’s no.” Trip turned on his heel and started inside.

  “Wait!” Marguerite called. “My father will pay double.”

  Trip stopped and frowned. “My decisions can’t be bought.”

  “I apologize. I didn’t mean to imply differently. Can you at least give us a reason?”

  “First of all,” he said, s
tepping closer and holding up his hand to tick off the count, “I don’t teach ladies how to sail.”

  “But she’s not the student, I am,” Mark insisted.

  He turned toward Mark. “Okay, second, if you’re that much of a troublemaker, I don’t want any part of it. A boat is no place for a kid to play.”

  “He’ll take his lessons seriously. I’ll see to that.” She laid her hand on her brother’s shoulder.

  “And third, can you swim?”

  Mark tried to shrug off her hand, to no avail. “Sure, I can swim like a fish.”

  “Not you – her. And before you answer, remember, I’ve seen your abilities firsthand.” He crossed his arms over his chest, revealing solid muscles beneath rolled-up shirtsleeves.

  Mouth suddenly dry, Marguerite licked her lips. What difference would one more white lie make? God understood. Besides, he didn’t ask how well she could swim. She could dog-paddle with the best of breeds.

  A long time ago, she’d learned that when lying, it was best to stick as close to the facts as possible. That way she could state the facts convincingly.

  She forced a smile. “Yes, Mr. Andrews, I can take care of myself. The other day I was caught off guard and my skirt wrapped around my legs.”

  Mark opened his mouth to protest, but Marguerite dug her fingers into his shoulder, and he clamped it shut.

  “Are you sure?” Trip’s eyes bore into her. “’Cause I don’t let anyone on my boat who can’t swim. It’s just too dangerous.”

  Was he softening? Marguerite pressed on. “Mr. Andrews, we’ve already assured you that we can. What else do you need to know?”

  “How does your mother feel about this?” Trip kept his gaze nailed to her face.

  Great. In for a penny … Marguerite took a deep breath. This one she could handle. “Suffice it to say that my mother fully supports any of Mark’s endeavors.”

  Mark elbowed her side. “Please, Mr. Andrews. Don’t let my dad’s dumb ideas keep me from learning to sail.”

  One side of Trip’s mouth lifted. “Fathers usually have a reason for doing what they do.”

  “He has a point, Mark.”

  “But, Mr. Andrews, can’t I learn even if she has to tag along?”

  “I am not tagging along. I am supervising your lessons.”