Trip made no move to steady her. “Lie down.”
“I’ll get the bed wet.”
“Don’t you think I know that? Now lie down before you fall over. The doctor will be here soon.”
She sank to the side of the bed, Trip’s firm jaw warning her she’d better follow through on the rest of his orders as well. Gingerly she lowered herself onto the thick pillow and glared back. There, are you happy?
Harry nodded toward her. “What do you want me to do about her mother?”
“Please, Trip.” She tried to sit up but didn’t quite make it. “You don’t understand. My mother is just like your father.”
A hint of compassion flashed across his face. “Well, she’s going to need someone to look after her.”
“I’ll be fi – ”
One stern look from Trip silenced her.
“If you have to fetch someone, you can get Lilly. She’s my personal maid.” Marguerite met Trip’s unspoken accusation. “And before you ask, yes, she knows what I’ve been doing.”
“Ah, your accomplice.” Harry laughed.
Trip crossed his arms over his chest. “Harry, take Mark and go get her. Mel, go in the kitchen and put the kettle on. She’s gonna need something warm to drink.”
After they left, Trip sat down in a stiff-backed chair across the room and didn’t take his eyes off her. She’d never been in a bedroom with a man before, and even though Harry had left the door wide open, Trip made the experience all the more uncomfortable with his penetrating eyes.
Her head throbbed, she was soaked through and through, and she smelled lakey. Guilt mixed with the pain, souring her stomach. She pulled the multicolored quilt up to her chin. “I truly am sorry.”
“Sorry for what? Lying to me? Or getting caught?”
“Both, I guess.”
“How could you sit at that tent meeting last night and still show up here today, knowing you’d lied like that?” The storm broke loose and his voice rose. “You heard the preacher’s words the same as I did. God values truth. What is it about a woman that just lets her lie to anyone she pleases? Why did you come to me? Did Mark even want the lessons?”
She couldn’t look at him. His words stung, and hot tears pricked her eyes. Her head throbbed, and she pressed the palm of her hand to her forehead. “I had to do it. You wouldn’t have taught me otherwise.”
“I was teaching Mark.”
“Then you’ll still teach us?”
“You’ve got some nerve, Marguerite Westing.” He shook his head, disdain marking his face. “I hear the doctor.”
Harry struggled to keep up with Mark as he tore along the back road to the Westing camp.
“Hey, speedy, take it easy on me.”
The boy slowed to a jog. “I’m just worried about her.”
“She’ll be fine.” Harry came alongside him. “It was just a bump on the head.”
“Mr. Andrews is really mad.”
“Trip gets like that sometimes.”
Harry had seen Trip’s fury before, but not since his own days of subterfuge. And Marguerite impressed the fire out of Harry, who knew a lot about keeping secrets. For that reason alone, he was determined to locate the maid and keep the truth from the poor girl’s mother about what had happened.
As he reached the Westings’ camp, the task before him proved to be difficult. A woman who resembled Marguerite, only much more severe, sat at a table issuing orders like a queen holding court. From his vantage point, he could see three servants: an older man and woman and a younger woman, nodding their “yes, ma’ams” and then going on with the work they were already engaged in. The two women bent over a washtub, picked up a bedsheet, and began to wring it out, each twisting an end. The water dripped onto the thick grass.
The younger woman, whom Mark identified as Lilly, hefted a basket filled with wrung sheets on her hip.
Harry saw his chance. “Where’s the clothesline?”
“Behind the tents. It’s strung between a couple of trees.” Mark put his hand on Harry’s arm. “But why don’t I go?”
“If your mother sees you without your sister, she’ll ask questions. You can follow me, but stay in the trees.”
Harry snuck around to the back of the camp and waited while Lilly hung two pillowcases on the line. Whistling, she draped a sheet over the line and fished two clothespins from her apron pocket. Harry approached.
She eyed him warily as he neared. Fearing she’d call out for help, he pressed a finger to his lips.
“I don’t want any trouble, mister,” she hissed, backing away.
He stayed behind the wet sheet. “Please, hear me out. Are you Lilly?”
“Who wants to know?”
“My name is Harry, and I’m on Trip Andrews’s crew.”
Lilly’s face paled. “And?”
“Your mistress, Marguerite, sent me to get you. Mark’s with me.” He pointed to the boy still hidden behind a sycamore. “Miss Westing’s been hurt.”
The older servant woman stepped around the side of the tent, and Harry ducked behind the sheet. “Who you talking to, Lil? I thought I heard voices.”
“Just humming to myself, Mama.”
“When you get those sheets hung, you should take a break and go for a walk. Pity to be cooped up on a nice day like this.”
Lilly reached for another sheet. “Thanks, Mama. Maybe I will.” When her mother left, Lilly leaned over the clothesline. “Is Marguerite okay?”
“Yes, but she got knocked in the lake.”
“She can’t swim.”
“We know that now.”
“So she got herself caught. I told her she would.” Lilly lifted the last sheet. “I suspect you want me to fetch her some dry clothes and bring her home.”
Harry took the other end and helped her hang it on the line. “If the doctor says she can travel.”
“Is she hurt that bad?”
Harry shook his head. “Naw, I don’t think so. More humiliated than hurt.”
Once Lilly collected her hat and Marguerite’s things, the threesome hurried along the lesser known but more direct path to the Yacht Club. Even though it consisted only of packed earth, it was faster.
“Tell me what happened,” Lilly said.
Harry relayed the story of how the wind had torn the boom from his hand and knocked Marguerite overboard. “Trip’s mad as a hornet right now. I think it hurt his pride a bit to know she duped him, but even more ’cause he hates dishonesty.”
“I think she knew that. She’s been up nearly every night fretting about it, but she just gets her heart set on something and wants it so bad that she’ll do anything to get it.”
“And this time she wanted to learn to sail?”
Lilly bobbed her head. “I’ve never seen her enjoy something more. You know she worked on those fool ropes for nearly three hours last night?”
“She’s a natural on the water.”
“Honest?”
He nodded. “Trip saw it too. He’d never let a woman on his Endeavor before, but now I’m afraid her sailing dreams have capsized.”
Lilly lifted an eyebrow. “You think she’s just going to give up?”
“You don’t?”
“Let’s just say it isn’t usually her way of doing things.”
Trip hated waiting. As a little boy he’d stood waiting at the door for days for his mom to come home, and she never did. And now he waited outside his bedroom for the doctor to emerge and update him on Marguerite’s condition.
What had she been thinking? Why had he agreed to her foolhardy scheme? Women didn’t have any business on a sailboat. Not that she hadn’t done pretty well for a novice, but it was simply too dangerous.
Pretty good? What was he saying? She was the best beginner he’d seen in ages, and she wasn’t even the student. He hadn’t seen anyone take to sailing like she had since he first taught Harry.
But she’d lied to him. A straight-out, bold-faced, determined-to-do-it-my-way lie. And she couldn’t sw
im.
Fresh anger burned in his chest. She could have gotten herself killed.
He rubbed his face with his hands. What was taking the doctor so long?
Finally the doctor stepped out of Trip’s bedroom and closed the door behind him.
“How is she?” Even he could hear the nervous edge in his voice.
“She’s got a nasty bump on her head, but I think she’ll be fine. I told her maid to keep her in bed for the rest of the day, until the dizziness subsides.”
“And the water?”
“Her lungs are clear. I don’t think she swallowed much.” The doctor stroked his bearded chin. “Might I ask what a young lady was doing on your sailboat?”
Trip moaned. “It’s a long story, Doc.”
“Then maybe you can tell me the next time I visit. Right now, I’d like to check on your father. Has he been taking it easy like I told him to?”
Rubbing the crick in his neck, Trip sighed. “Not really. He insisted on going to John Ratger’s place today to do some repairs on his boat.”
“Trip, he’s got to slow down.”
“I know. I’m just having a hard time convincing him.” He took out his wallet and passed the doctor a couple of bills.
“Keep a close eye on the girl.”
“I’ll see that it’s done.”
When Trip walked into the workshop, Lloyd and Harry looked up, concern written on their faces. He raked his hand through his hair. “The doc says she’s going to be fine. Harry, can you get a rig so we can take her back to her camp? I don’t think she should walk that far.”
“Already done. I borrowed it from the Tanner place. If we take her down the back road, her parents won’t see her coming.”
“Good. Take care of it.”
“You aren’t going to take her home yourself?”
Trip picked up a hammer and balanced it in his hand. “No. I’ve got work to do.”
“Have you even been in to speak to her since the doctor came?” Harry shook his head. “Don’t you have something to say to her?”
“I have a lot of things I’d like to say, only I don’t think God would approve of most of them.” He moved to the boat and began pounding in a brass nail with more force than necessary.
Harry pushed up from his stool. “So we just drop her off at her tent without so much as a ‘been nice knowing you’?”
Trip shot him a glare. “Tell her whatever you want. Just get her home. I’m done with her. I don’t care if I ever see Marguerite Westing again.”
13
Unsure of what hurt most – her head or her heart – Marguerite lay in her own bed awash in guilt, anger, and disappointment. To her surprise, her mother believed Lilly when she explained Marguerite had taken ill with a bad headache.
Her mother entered her tent and placed a velvet-soft hand on her forehead. “No fever. It’s probably this insipid heat. Perhaps I need to speak to your father about cutting our summer holiday short.”
“Thank you for your concern, Mother, but I’m certain I’ll be fine tomorrow.”
At least on the outside. Tomorrow would come and there would be no more sailing lessons – and no more Trip Andrews.
Where did that come from? Trip? Well, of course she’d miss their time together. He’d been an excellent instructor – kind, encouraging, gentle – even if he was a bit cocky. The feelings wiggled their way into her heart like a fishhook refusing to let go.
No more lies, Marguerite.
While no one spoke, she felt the words impressed on her heart all the same. The words of the preacher the other night popped into her head. What are the biggest lies Satan wants us to believe? The ones we tell ourselves. Her stomach flip-flopped and she swallowed hard. Was she lying to herself? Did she have feelings for Trip Andrews?
“Marguerite, darling, are you feeling worse?” her mother asked. “You look positively ghostly. Perhaps I should send for the doctor.”
Lilly handed Marguerite a cup of tea. “I don’t think that’ll be necessary, ma’am. You know how Miss Marguerite gets. She just needs some sleep. I’ll keep an eye on her.”
“Make sure you get her a cool cloth for her head. On second thought, I’ll send Isaiah for ice. That will be even better.”
“Really, Mother. I’ll be fine.” She sipped the hot liquid, tasting the bitter willow bark infused in the brew Alice had made for her.
“In that case, I’ll leave you. Lilly, keep these flaps open to let in the breeze. It’s positively stifling in here.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
They watched her go, then Lilly perched on the foot of the bed. “Okay, spit it out.”
“What?”
“Whatever has you looking so spooked.”
Marguerite picked at the lace trim on the sheet. Tears rimmed her eyes, and she blinked them away. “I won’t lie to you.”
“Now there’s a first.” Lilly smiled.
“So much has happened.” How could she even explain everything going through her mind right now? “I feel guilty and disappointed and angry with myself. I guess I need some time to work through it.”
Lilly nodded and stood up. “I hope you know that God forgives you.”
Marguerite released a long, shaky breath, her body surrendering to the soft feather mattress. “I know, but I don’t think Trip Andrews will.”
Bending the last piece of cedar planking around the frame, Trip held it in place with his knee and pounded in the brass nails. He stepped back and surveyed his work. His father would be impressed when he returned. He and Lloyd had made good progress this afternoon. The Robertses should have a new sailboat by the end of next week, complete with a mast shaped by the hands of Mark and Marguerite Westing.
Why hadn’t he seen through her lies? She’d used him to get what she wanted, plain and simple. And she’d used her sweetheart smile and those powder blue eyes to win him over.
“Wonder what’s taking Harry so long.” Trip wiped his hands on a towel. “He should’ve been back by now.”
Lloyd nodded. “You know Harry.”
He did. Maybe he should have taken the girl and the maid home himself. After all, she was his responsibility.
Stop thinking about her.
Harry sauntered in, whistling a tune, and immediately set to work putting a finish on the mast.
“Well?”
“What?”
“Did you get Marguerite home okay?”
Harry dipped a brush in the varnish and then laid a thin strip of it along the length of the mast. “Of course I did. Stubborn woman made me stop two camps away, though, and let her walk the rest of the way.”
“You let her walk?”
“It was that or carry her. I figured she had her maid and Mark to help her.” He looked up from his work and grinned. “Thought you were done with her.”
Trip crossed his arms over his chest. “I am.”
“Good, because I’d enjoy getting to know a spirited girl like her. I like a little spunk in my ladies. Even sopping wet, she sure was something to look at.”
“Stay away from her, Harry.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so.” Trip turned back to the workbench and sighed. Why did Marguerite always make him sound like his father?
That was one good thing – she wouldn’t be able to do that anymore.
After sleeping all afternoon and into the evening, Marguerite found herself wide awake when everyone else had long since gone to bed. Lilly must not have wanted to wake her to change into her bed clothes. She snored softly from her cot in the corner.
Marguerite checked the alarm clock on the nightstand but couldn’t make out the hands in the dark. She scooted out of bed and stuffed her feet into her boys’ boots. Some fresh air would clear the cobwebs taking residence in her throbbing head. Easing from the tent, she gathered her skirt in one hand. In the stillness of the night, the skirt whispered against the grass as she crossed to the wicker table at the heart of their camp.
Stars speck
led the ebony sky, and she lowered herself into a chair to bask in their glory. It felt silly, but she spoke the childhood poem all the same. “Star light, star bright, the first star I see tonight …”
Only her wish wasn’t one made by little girls.
Muffled voices rose from her parents’ tent. She froze. She couldn’t make out the words, but she recognized her mother’s angry voice all too well. In a tone usually reserved for Marguerite, she spat something at her father.
“Stay out of it, Camille!” Her father threw back the tent flap. “What I do is none of your business.”
“It is when you risk everything.”
Everything? What did she mean? Did this have something to do with Roger? Marguerite held her breath and watched her father head for the packed dirt road on which Harry had brought her home this morning. Questions filled her mind. Where was he going at night, and what had upset her mother so? She could count on one hand the number of times she’d heard the two of them argue. Generally, if her father actually put his foot down, her mother would reluctantly give in, but this wasn’t like either of them.
Marguerite shouldn’t be surprised. Her father hadn’t been himself lately, and she suspected the answers she sought could be found at the end of that road. Biting her lip, she made a decision to follow him.
Moonlight filtered through the trees, casting ethereal shadows on the road. Heart pounding, Marguerite followed her father, keeping to the side, cloaked beneath the canopy. Her father must have known the path well, because he traveled fast and soon was only a dark blotch in the distance.
Marguerite, on the other hand, strained to see the ruts in the road. Twice she nearly tumbled when she misstepped. An owl hooted and she jumped. Maybe she should go back. Her father could take care of himself.
But something was wrong. She had to know what was going on.
She lost sight of her father as he continued on the path toward the only well-lit building set beyond the Yacht Club – the one Trip warned her wasn’t a place for boys. She gathered that went for women as well. Still, she needed to know if her father was at risk. He might be in some kind of trouble, and if he was, he needed her help.
Glancing at the boat shop, she noticed a light still burned in the workshop. Maybe Trip couldn’t sleep either. Pious, self-righteous, unforgiving man.
Making Waves Page 14