Making Waves

by Lorna Seilstad

  She dropped her head and studied the neatly coiled rope lying in the bottom of the boat.

  Trip wound the halyard around a cleat. “I’m focusing on the regatta, but I do know some special ladies – one in particular.”

  “Who’s that?” Mark asked.

  Lord, this is Your idea, isn’t it? You’re putting all these ideas in Mark’s head. Trip’s going to say he likes some girl who’s away for the season or, worse yet, Laura Thompson. I saw her making herself more than a little available the other night to be a dance partner.

  Marguerite shook her head. Good grief. What is wrong with me? Trip doesn’t mean anything to me.

  “Well, as a matter of fact, I enjoyed dancing with your sister the other night.” He gave Marguerite a rakish grin. “But she’s already spoken for.”

  Marguerite choked. Me? Her hopes soared, then sank like a bobber with a fish on the line. He thought she was with Roger.

  The sailboat rode another swell and plunged suddenly.

  Mark covered his mouth with his hand. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  Me too.

  10

  Roger carried his mother’s parcels to store after store, telling her to buy anything she wanted. He enjoyed making her happy. His father certainly never had. For that reason, he always made time for his mother. So when she said she wanted to go shopping this morning, he cleared his calendar and ordered the carriage readied even though she insisted she could go shopping alone.

  It would take time to make Marguerite as obedient as his mother, but he was certain a strong hand would help her learn her place. And once Marguerite learned to obey his wishes, she would discover just how doting and attentive he could be.

  He fingered a silk scarf at the People’s Department Store accessory counter while his mother pondered embroidered handkerchiefs.

  “It’s lovely.” She touched his arm. “You should select something for Marguerite. A lady likes little trinkets and gifts. It would show you’re thinking of her.”

  “But what would I purchase?”

  “That scarf would do nicely. Or what activities does she like? If you can get her a gift that encourages one of her hobbies, it would be especially thoughtful. A gardening hat, a lovely bound journal, that kind of thing.”

  Hobbies? What did Marguerite like doing besides irritating him and doing things that no proper lady would? Still, she was beautiful, and the scarf in his hand would bring out the blue in her mesmerizing eyes. But was it the right gift to win her over? If he could win her heart, he could avoid the ugliness of his alternative plan.

  The corners of his lips raised as an idea took shape. Perfect. He’d pretend to understand her unorthodox ways. His gift would say it all – how he planned to lavish gifts on her and how he couldn’t wait until she belonged to him.

  “Are you ready to go, Mother?”

  “Yes, dear.”

  “Good. Then I’d like to make one more stop to purchase the kind of gift you suggested.”

  Dropping to his knees in the bottom of the boat, Mark managed to lean over the side before losing all of the breakfast he’d eaten.

  Trip slipped into the vacated seat and took the tiller. He passed Mark a canteen. “Feel better?”

  Mark nodded and took a swig from the canteen. “Some sailor I am.”

  “You’ll get used to it. The water’s a bit choppy this morning.” Trip tugged at the line controlling the boom. “Ready? Boom coming across.”

  The warning registered, and Marguerite bobbed her head.

  He grinned. “Good job. You remembered to duck.”

  “And if I hadn’t?”

  “You’d have had a nice swim. Wouldn’t that be a surprise?”

  More than you realize. The thought of being caught in her lie sent a bolt of fear through her. She cleared her throat. “What are we doing now?”

  “We’re heading back.” He turned to Mark and gave him a hand up. “It’s time to learn about tacking.”

  “Now?” Mark moaned, holding his head.

  “Trip, he doesn’t look well.”

  “We could dock, but it’s a long walk back.” He ruffled Mark’s hair. “Thought you were tough. Sometimes a man’s got to suffer a little to get a job done.”

  Her brother squared his shoulders. “I am tough.”

  “Good. Tacking.” He turned into the wind. The edge of the sail began flapping wildly. “Mark, what’s that called?”

  “Fluffing.”

  “It starts with an l,” Marguerite said, ignoring Trip’s frown.

  “Lifting? Loafing?”

  Marguerite moaned. “Luffing, Mark.”

  “Well, at least one Westing remembered.” Trip grinned. “Too bad it’s the one who’s supposed to be keeping her mouth closed. Mark, move on over here and take the tiller again.”

  Trip didn’t take his eyes off Mark, but Marguerite felt comfortable in looking around the lake. As they neared the northeast shore, Colonel Reed’s Grand Plaza and the splendid pavilion shone like a castle on the sand. The redbrick Yacht Club, farther down the beach, stood out as well. Beside it, she recognized the humble two-story boat shop where Trip and his father worked and lived.

  Beyond the Yacht Club, set nearly a mile off to the side of the north shore, another building – a palatial, three-story, log cabin–looking structure – lay enshrined in a grove of trees.

  “Trip, what’s that building?” she asked.

  Mark’s eyes lit up. “The kind of place I’d like to explore.”

  “That is no place for boys.” Trip’s voice dropped in warning. “Stay away from there, do you hear?”

  “Sure. No problem.”

  “I mean it, Mark. Don’t go near that place.”

  Homework.

  When Trip sent Mark home with two ropes and eight different knots to master, Mark complained, but Marguerite was secretly thrilled. In case Mark needed help, Trip had chosen to teach her the knots as well.

  Sitting in the rocking chair inside her tent, Marguerite twisted the ropes into one of the complex knots. She could still feel the warmth of Trip’s hands on hers as he helped her shape the knots for the first time. He’d commented on how small her hands were as he explained in detail how each knot was used on a boat. Glad she’d buffed her nails to a shine that morning, she’d tried to focus on his words and not the frantic beating of her heart.

  She wound the rope into a hopeless-looking fisherman’s knot. Trip insisted it was the one a sailor would use most often. The two entwined cords in her hands resembled a pile of noodles a lot more than the tidy knot he’d produced with such ease.

  The tent flap flew open, and Marguerite shoved the ropes under an adjacent chair. Her mother stepped inside and gave her a cursory examination. A scowl marred her mother’s perfect complexion. “You are getting too much sun. Your cheeks are pink.”

  Marguerite lifted a hand to her face, surprised to find it warm to the touch. She should have thought about sunburn and worn a wider-brimmed hat.

  “It is a lovely day. What are you doing in this stuffy tent?”

  “Keeping myself from getting too much sun.” She couldn’t keep a defiant grin from betraying her.

  Her mother shook her head. “What am I going to do with you?”

  “Did you come in here for something special, Mother?”

  “Yes, in fact, I did.” Her mother moved to one of Marguerite’s trunks. “Where is your orange crepe gown?”

  Marguerite wrinkled her nose. She hated that one more than both the lavender and the pink gowns. With its overly full skirt, it made her feel like a pumpkin. “Why? Do you want to borrow it?”

  “I want you to look your best tonight. Roger is speaking to your father right now about some very important matters.”

  Marguerite sucked in her breath. Roger was speaking to Daddy? Now? Tonight?

  “Why do you look so shocked? I’ve been trying to prepare you, dear, for the eventuality. You are ready to accept his offer of marriage, aren’t you?”r />
  “No!” The word erupted like a boiling pot of coffee under a hot flame.

  Her mother’s normally bright eyes turned icy, daring her to fight back. “You’ve had more than enough time to dissuade his attentions if you had wanted. You cannot turn him down at this point, or you’ll be viewed as a tease.”

  “If I wanted to dissuade his attentions? I’ve done nothing to encourage them, and besides, since when has what I wanted mattered to you in the least? I’ve told you over and over I don’t want to be with Roger.”

  “Then you are being foolish. He will make a wonderful husband. Steadfast, trustworthy, financially secure.”

  “But I don’t love him.” Marguerite stared at her mother. How could she listen and never hear a thing? Her heart thundered against her rib cage. “Father won’t give him my hand.”

  “We’ll see.” A sanctimonious smile graced her mother’s face. “Dear, put on the orange dress and your best smile. I believe you are about to marry one of the wealthiest men in the state.”

  “What if he proposes, Lilly? I could never tell him yes. Not in a million, trillion years.” Marguerite sat on the bed, clasping her Bible in her hands. “This can’t be what God wants for me. You always say to delight myself in the Lord and He will give me the desires of my heart. Well, my heart has no desire for Roger whatsoever.”

  Lilly laughed as she slipped the Bible from her friend’s hand and set it on the nightstand. “I know I’ve told you this before, but why don’t you tell the man the truth?”

  “I won’t have to. My father won’t let an engagement happen. I trust him. If I told Roger no, my mother would disown me.”

  “Nonsense. She’s your mother.”

  “Are we talking about the same woman?” Marguerite raised her eyebrows. “Her heart is set on this marriage.”

  “But she isn’t the one who’ll be walking down the aisle to that man.” Lilly walked to the trunk. “Speaking of your mother, she told me to have you wear the orange gown tonight.”

  “I’ll take the gray one.” She flopped back on the bed.

  “Not very colorful for a celebration.”

  Marguerite drew a pillow over her face. “From this moment forward, I am officially in mourning.”

  Dressed in a gray dotted skirt, solid gray vest, and red silk tie, Marguerite waited inside her tent for Roger to summon her, but he didn’t call. She glanced at her watch. Almost 8:30. If she was lucky, her father had indeed turned him down and Mr. Boring had made a hasty exit.

  She planted that hope in her heart but didn’t dare let it grow. Not yet. Her stomach rumbled. At least she could ask Alice for something to eat. She exited her tent, relieved when she saw no sign of Roger or her mother.

  She found Alice with Lilly, shelling peas at the wicker table. “Your mama told me to tell you she and Mark left for the Talbots’ camp for dinner. Your daddy is to come when he’s done talking to your fellow.”

  Marguerite’s nose wrinkled. Hearing Roger called her “fellow” made her shiver. She glanced at Lilly, who giggled.

  “So Roger’s still here?”

  Alice inclined her head toward her parents’ tent. Roger’s and her father’s heated voices drifted from inside the tent. Marguerite scooted closer, and both Lilly and Alice scowled at her. She rolled her eyes.

  “Edward, if you keep this up, there won’t be a business deal.” Roger’s usually monotone voice escalated, taking on a hardness she hadn’t heard before. “When it comes to business, I don’t take chances on anyone, and right now you are a risk.”

  Her father? A risk? Before she could even consider the reasons why her tiresome suitor would say such a thing, Roger stormed from the tent and plowed into her. He caught her roughly by the arms, keeping her from hitting the ground.

  “Marguerite, what in heaven’s name are you doing out here?”

  She stepped free from his hold. “I thought we were going for dinner.”

  “Oh, of course.”

  His lack of apology staggered her. Where had Roger’s impeccable manners gone? Maybe now was the time to do as Lilly suggested and tell him what she really thought of him, but not if her father’s business dealings were in question. No, the timing simply wasn’t right. She could endure Roger one more evening for her father’s sake.

  She tugged on her gloves and forced a smile. “So, where are we dining this evening?”

  Taking her elbow, he led her away from the tent. “I’m afraid I’ll have to postpone our dinner plans. I have business to attend to, but we can take a stroll, and I’ll explain while we walk. I have something I want you to know.”

  How odd. He didn’t seem put off, excited, or nervous. If anything, he still seemed irritated, and she guessed it might have something to do with the exchange with her father. Maybe he hadn’t spoken to her father concerning her after all. “Of course we can walk. Just don’t be surprised if I faint dead away from hunger.”

  “I’m sure you’ll survive.” He offered his arm and she reluctantly slipped her hand into the bend of his elbow. He covered her hand with his free one, and she cringed.

  To Marguerite’s surprise, they boarded the steamboat Liberty at the pavilion and crossed to the south side of the lake. Roger said he enjoyed the quiet offered there. As soon as they embarked, the tantalizing scents from Louie’s French Restaurant made her stomach growl loudly.

  Roger frowned. “Marguerite, that’s hardly becoming.”

  And you think that hairy mustache is? She covered her mouth and coughed to cover her poorly timed giggle. “I guess you should have kept your word and fed me.”

  “You can’t always have what you want.”

  “I was joking, Roger.”

  Marguerite chose to remain silent as they walked while Roger prattled on about his latest art acquisition. They approached the electric fountain, and Marguerite paused to watch the water dance in high arches and cascade back into the mosaic-tiled basin.

  “Isn’t it beautiful? In half an hour they’ll turn on the colored lights. I haven’t seen them yet, so can we stay?”

  “I can’t indulge your fancies this time. I told you I have to be going.” He directed her to a bench without a view of the fountain. “You’ve been enjoying your time at the lake.”

  His matter-of-fact words made her nerves tingle. Did he know what she’d been doing? Nonsense. She was letting her imagination take hold. She stilled her hands by clasping them in her lap. “Yes, my days have been pleasant, and I’ve had a great deal of fun.”

  “Not too much, I hope.”

  “Can one ever have too much fun?” She forced a laugh, hoping to lighten his mood and dislodge the seriousness of his tone.

  “I believe they can.”

  Of course you do. She rolled her eyes. If Roger wanted the discussion to be sober, she could lead it that direction. “Roger, what were you and my father discussing?”

  “I don’t think you need to trouble your pretty head with that.” He captured her hand in his.

  “You sounded upset with him. I heard you say something about a risk.”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed, and he squeezed her hand hard. “You shouldn’t be eavesdropping. It’s rude.”

  “I wasn’t doing so intentionally.” She wiggled her fingers free from his beefy grasp and stood. Moving to the nearby rock planter filled with summer blossoms, she plucked a pink zinnia and fingered the blossom. She stared out at the inky, rippling lake lying beneath wrinkled ribbons of orange, yellow, and purple as the sun dipped behind a bluff.

  The tension in Roger’s rounded shoulders and the thin line of his lips told her he was clearly annoyed she’d heard the conversation. She rubbed her hand. How would he react if she pushed the topic further?

  Taking a deep, solidifying breath, she turned to him. “Roger, did you really mean what you said? You know my father couldn’t possibly be a risk in any way. He’s an excellent businessman.”

  Roger got up and moved in front of her, impossibly close. “You don’t know him as well as
you think you do.”

  “What do you mean by that?” She took a step back, distancing herself from him. His piercing eyes made ice water flood her veins.

  “Things aren’t always what they seem to be, Marguerite.” He closed the distance she’d created and loomed over her.

  Please, Lord, make him go away. How about a nice meteor strike?

  He took hold of her shoulders. “But I don’t want to discuss that with you now. I have other things of pressing importance.”

  Her mouth went dry.

  “I will be leaving the city on business for a couple weeks.”

  She fought the urge to smile and covered any traces by bringing the blossom to her lips. Thank You, Lord! Talk about working fast.

  “Your presence will be missed, Roger.”

  It wasn’t a lie. He might not be missed by her, but Marguerite felt certain her mother would notice his absence.

  “That’s kind of you to say.” He stared into her eyes. “When I return, I intend to ask for your hand in marriage.”

  “Roger, I – ”

  “Don’t say anything now.” Before she could move away, he pulled her close and kissed her as if she belonged to him and him alone.

  She yanked back, hating the feel of his whisker-covered mouth against hers. “Roger! What are you doing?”

  His mustache twitched when he smirked. “I just wanted you to realize that you’re already spoken for.”

  11

  Too rattled to allow Roger to see her home, Marguerite insisted she could find her own way. Thankfully, he was in such a hurry he didn’t argue with her.

  She now wandered the boardwalk alone. Her stomach, soured by the news of Roger’s intentions and his possessive kiss, left her without any hunger pangs. Even more nauseating was the knowledge that she had she let him leave without telling him the truth. God had given her the perfect opportunity, and she’d let it slip away.