Making Waves

by Lorna Seilstad

  Her father patted Camille’s arm. “She’s right, darling. Our little girl is a young woman, and by next summer she’ll be setting up a camp of her own.” He winked at Marguerite.

  She grimaced. Mosquitoes might not ruin this day, but a reminder that her mother expected acceptance of any proposal Roger Gordon might offer, even in jest, certainly would.

  Feeling smothered by more than the late June heat, she rose from her chair. “If you’ll both excuse me, I think I’ll go look around. I believe I saw the Grahams’ camp on the way in, and I’d like to say hello to Emily.”

  “Don’t wander too far off,” her mother said as if the effort to speak had drained her. “We’re expected for dinner at Louie’s French Restaurant with the Underwoods promptly at 6:30.”

  “Mother, we’re at the lake. It’s in vogue to be late.”

  A deep scowl marred her mother’s perfect complexion. “As Westings, we are always prompt. It would serve you well to remember that.”

  Willowy Emily Graham, who was a couple years younger than Marguerite, jumped from her camp chair and ran to greet Marguerite. “When did you arrive? Is that your camp that’s being set up down the way?”

  “Yes, it was Daddy’s idea to summer here at the lake.”

  “We arrived three weeks ago. Let me go grab my hat and parasol and I’ll show you around.”

  She rushed off before Marguerite could even answer, then returned just as quickly. Linking her arm in Marguerite’s, Emily directed her down the pebbled path. “Now, where should we go first? Oh, I know. The Grand Plaza.”

  Soon they were walking beside the lake on the paved, treelined walkway leading to the social center of the resort on the northeast side. They passed the main pavilion with its red-tiled roof and crisp white veranda.

  “Inside there’s a restaurant, a refreshment bar, a dance floor, and several meeting areas.” Emily squeezed Marguerite’s arm. “Did you know they even have a telephone? If you pay the fee, you can call as far as New York!”

  Progressing further, Marguerite noticed that besides the various vendors around the Grand Plaza, there were several additional larger structures on the shore. When questioned, Emily named each of them: the Yacht Club, a boat shop, and two icehouses. Across the lake, on the south side, fewer buildings dotted the area. “Emily, how big is this lake?”

  “My father says it’s about six miles around, but it’s more crescent-shaped than circular.” She pointed to the center of the lake. “The big island in the middle is Coney Island and the smaller one is Turtle Island. See those rowboats? You can rent them from the Yacht Club.”

  Before long, Emily had paraded them through the Grand Plaza, headed toward the sandy beach to show Marguerite the dive tower and toboggan runs, and given her a history of the lake, which was formed in 1881 after a flood. Emily explained that the south side was called Manhattan Beach, as the developer, Mr. O’Dell, wanted it to have an Eastern feel.

  Marguerite and Emily sat down at a park bench as the wind carried a cool breeze over the water. Marguerite released a slow breath. “It’s so peaceful here.”

  Emily giggled. “It should be. Manawa is an Indian word meaning ‘peace.’”

  “I sure hope it lives up to its name. I could use a little peace.” Away from humdrum Roger Gordon.

  As they returned to Emily’s camp, thoughts of Roger suddenly spurred Marguerite’s memory. “Good heavens. I’m going to be late. Emily, please forgive me. I have to leave. I’m supposed to be meeting my parents for dinner at 6:30.”

  “Hurry. I can only imagine what your mother is like when you’re late. Do you remember the way back to the pavilion?”

  Marguerite nodded and rushed down the path. If she didn’t stop at her own camp to freshen up, she might make it.

  Skirting the deck chairs lining the pier, Marguerite held on to her hat and ran as fast as she dared toward the enormous pavilion. Her mother would be furious. She shouldn’t have spent so much time wandering around the lake with Emily.

  But it had been delightful, and it had confirmed her hopes. Her heart skipped like a child’s on Christmas Eve just thinking about a summer full of excitement.

  She came to a halt in front of a young man sweeping the boardwalk and pressed a hand to her stomach, attempting to catch her breath. “Excuse me. Would you by chance know the time?”

  He checked his pocket watch. “It’s 6:30, miss.”

  “Oh no. Which door of the pavilion do I enter to reach Louie’s French Restaurant?”

  “Louie’s is on the other side of the lake, miss, not inside the pavilion. If you hurry, you can catch the steamboat over there. She’s headed across the lake.”

  “Thank you,” she called over her shoulder as she hurried toward the end of the dock where passengers boarded the steamboat Liberty.

  “Miss,” the attendant shouted, “I wouldn’t rush if I were you. The planking gets pretty slick this time of night.”

  The warning registered a fraction of a second too late as she skidded on the dock. Her arms flailing, her feet flew out from under her, and she fell headlong into the lake, the murky water swallowing her. Frantic, she searched in vain for something – anything – to hold on to. Kicking with all her might, she resurfaced, only to have her dress entangle her legs. Then, without warning, the lake claimed her again.

  2

  Breaking through the surface of the water, Marguerite thrashed about wildly. A thick arm encircled her jaw and held her tight against a solid chest. Panicked, she made contact with the man’s unyielding arm and sank her nails deep into his flesh. The rescuer held firm.

  “Settle down,” he commanded, his deep voice solid and unrelenting, his hold tightening. “I’m just going to pull you to the edge of the pier. Relax.”

  She coughed at the fishy taste of the lake water and willed her body to do as he said, but she could not stop the trembling. “I – I can’t.”

  “Try.”

  With three more strong strokes, he reached the pier. The dock assistant hoisted her up, led her to a deck chair, and draped a blanket around her shoulders. He crouched in front of her. His mouth was moving, so she knew he was speaking to her, but she couldn’t tear her eyes from her rescuer, whom she could see rising from the water over the assistant’s shoulder.

  Standing at least six feet tall, the rescuer walked directly toward her. His white shirt clung to his broad chest and his dark trousers dripped on the planks. With a flip of his wrist, he shooed the gawkers away, admonishing them to hurry or they’d miss their boat.

  The assistant stood up when the man approached. “She must have cracked her skull, Mr. Andrews. She isn’t answering any of my questions.”

  The dock assistant reached for her head, but she pushed him away. “My head is perfectly fine.”

  The rescuer smiled, revealing a dimpled grin that took her breath away. “What about the rest of you?”

  Well, what do you think? I love meeting handsome men when I look like a drowned rat.

  Her cheeks warmed, and she squeezed her eyes shut to block out the view. “I’m fine. I’ll just go back to my tent and – ” She stood and wobbled on her feet.

  He caught her arm and pressed her back into the chair. “Whoa, there. Why don’t you rest a few more minutes, miss?”

  “Mr. Andrews, if you’ve got her, do you mind if I get back to work?” the assistant asked.

  “Go ahead, Pauly. I’ll see to her.” He squatted before her. “Miss, I need to know the truth. Do you need a doctor?”

  “No!”

  The man rose. “Then at least let me escort you to wherever you came from. Hotel or camp?”

  “No, that’s not necessary. I’m really all right now.” Marguerite stood again, grateful to find her rubbery legs didn’t betray her this time. “I need to hurry. I was already late for a dinner date with my family.”

  “So I noticed.” He gave her another dimpled, mind-spinning grin.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “In th
e future, I wouldn’t recommend running on the dock.”

  “I wasn’t running. I was … stepping lively.”

  “Then I wouldn’t step … so lively.”

  She suppressed a smile that ached to get out. “Thank you for your concern and aid. I’ll see to it that your efforts are duly compensated if you’ll give me your name.”

  He frowned. “My name is Trip Andrews. I’m glad you’re okay, but no other thanks are needed.”

  Strange name – Trip. Unlike me, he doesn’t seem to have any coordination problems. She studied him. Warm hazel eyes, well-built, probably midtwenties, and the assistant obviously knew him. Was he another guest at the lake? A local? Perhaps he stayed in town at one of the fancy hotels?

  Before she could ask, Marguerite spotted a familiar round-shouldered form approaching and moaned. “Would you mind throwing me back in the lake now, Mr. Andrews?”

  “What?” His brows drew together.

  “Marguerite!” Roger ran the last few feet toward her. “What happened to you?”

  “I slipped on the pier.”

  “You fell in the lake? How could you be so careless?”

  “I’m fine, but thank you for asking.”

  He pushed up his spectacles. “Forgive me. I’m concerned because we were supposed to meet your parents at 6:30. I missed my streetcar and had to wait for the next one. Don’t you realize how upset they’ll be with our tardiness? You really should have been more careful, Marguerite.”

  Trip cleared his throat. “I don’t believe the lady anticipated how slick the boards can become in the evening.”

  Roger turned to him and eyed the dripping man from head to toe. “And you are?”

  “Trip Andrews, sir.” He offered his hand. “I pulled her out of the water.”

  Roger gripped his hand, simultaneously snaking a protective arm around Marguerite’s waist. “In that case, I owe you a debt of gratitude for saving my intended’s life.”

  Her stomach roiled and she attempted to step free. “Roger, I am perfectly capable of walking home on my own.”

  “None of that, Marguerite.” He yanked her close. “You will let me assist you back to your camp, and then I will send for a doctor and notify your parents as to your whereabouts.”

  Catching a final sympathetic look from her rescuer, Marguerite let Roger lead her down the pier. She sighed. Suffering the indignity of being caught in such a sorry state in public, and, even worse, having to do so on the arm of Roger Gordon in front of the dimpled stranger, simply wasn’t fair.

  While the walk back to the camp had eliminated the worst of the dripping, Marguerite still felt like a bowl of cold, mushy oatmeal. As soon as she entered her tent, Lilly began peeling off the sodden layers.

  “This is as bad as skinning an onion.” Lilly draped the wet dress over the humpback trunk, smoothing out all of the wrinkles. She turned to Marguerite, propped tiny hands on her hips, and shook her head. Her lips formed a perfect, upside-down u.

  Marguerite caught a glimpse of herself in the washstand mirror and knew why. She was clad only in her lace-trimmed corset cover, and her blonde curls hung loosely around her heart-shaped face. Her lips sported a bluish tint, almost matching her deep-set, cornflower blue eyes. Gooseflesh pimpled her skin, and she shivered in the cool evening air.

  Lilly clicked her tongue. “Look at you, Miss Marguerite. You are a sorry sight.”

  “Oh, and I thought I was ready for the ball.”

  “Sorry, princess, but I’m not your fairy godmother.” Lilly handed her a soft cotton towel. “We’d better hurry. Mr. Gordon said he’d be back with a doctor soon.”

  “I don’t need a doctor. I need some supper. I’m starving. And maybe a warm bath.”

  Lilly cocked an eye. “Haven’t you had enough water for one day?” Moving behind Marguerite, she released the bindings on Marguerite’s corset and tossed it in a pile beside the trunk. She then began to untie the wet drawstrings holding up her crinoline.

  “Can’t you hurry? I’m freezing.”

  Lilly snagged a quilt off the brass bed they’d brought from home and offered it to her. “This will take a good long while. Untying a wet string is hard.”

  “Just cut it.”

  “And ruin a perfectly good petticoat because you decided to go for a dip? I don’t think so. Your mama would chew my hide.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” Teeth chattering, Marguerite tried to remain still while her maid finished. Finally the last of the garments gave way and heaped at her feet. “Thank you, Lilly.”

  Lilly dropped a nightgown over Marguerite’s head. “Now, hop on in that bed and get warm and toasty before the doctor comes.”

  “I don’t need – ”

  “I know. You don’t need no doctor. Maybe you should’ve told that to that beau of yours and not to me.”

  “He’s not my beau.” Unpinning her hair, Marguerite stuck the pins in her mouth and blotted her damp hair with the towel.

  “He sure thinks he is.” Grinning, Lilly folded down the blankets on the bed and motioned Marguerite toward it.

  Marguerite rolled her eyes. Withdrawing the pins from between her lips, she set them on the nightstand. “That’s the problem.” She drew the quilt up to her neck and moaned. From the way Roger had swooped in and taken charge, her dimpled rescuer would think him to be her beau as well.

  Lilly picked up the wet undergarments and paused to study Marguerite’s face. She raised an eyebrow. “So, was he handsome?”

  “Who?”

  “The man who pulled you out of the water.”

  “Very.” Marguerite’s lips curled into a smile. Lilly knew her so well. “Broad shoulders, strong arms, kind hazel eyes, and the most heartwarming grin.”

  “Too bad.”

  “Why?”

  Lilly flicked a damp curl. “Because you, Miss Marguerite, look like a dishrag.”

  Head pounding, Marguerite forced her eyes open and squinted at the sunlight filtering through the tent opening.

  “Mornin’, Miss Sunshine.” Lilly held up two dresses – a peach chiffon with tight sleeves and an enormous bustle, and a white cotton gored skirt with a rose-colored tailored jacket. “Which one do you fancy today?”

  Marguerite moaned. “Mother wants to have breakfast, doesn’t she?”

  “A little friendly chitchat over scrambled eggs won’t hurt you.”

  “Nothing like a helping of guilt to go with my splitting headache. Did you hear her last night? You would have thought I intentionally fell in the lake and missed a dinner engagement just to upset her.”

  “The doctor warned you about that headache – the one in your head, not your mama – and you were the one who said you’d be fine and didn’t need to stay in bed today.”

  Marguerite propped herself up on one elbow, wincing at the sudden spike of pain in her head. “Can I change my mind?”

  “You’d do better to spend your time trying to change hers. I heard her talking to your daddy again about your impending nuptials to Mr. Exciting.”

  “And?”

  “Your daddy said they’d discuss it if and when the time came. He told her it was your decision.”

  Marguerite pinched the bridge of her nose. “Did she just accept it?”

  “What do you think?”

  “Daddy won’t give my hand to a man like that. He’ll take care of me. He always does.”

  “I sure hope so – for your sake.” Lilly held out the two dresses again.

  Marguerite swung her legs out of bed and pointed to the white shirtwaist, matching skirt, and jacket. She liked how modern it looked. Besides, no one wore bustles anymore.

  Lilly chuckled. “You know your mama would have picked the other one.”

  “She likes me to look like an old woman, and she thinks ladies’ jackets are too masculine. She says I’ll never make a good catch in one of them.” Sliding to the floor, Marguerite knelt at the side of her bed.

  “What are you doing now?”

  Margue
rite laced her fingers together before glancing at her maid. “I thought I’d better start this day with prayer, because between my mother and Roger, it sure looks like I’m going to need it.”

  3

  Extending her parasol, Marguerite felt a breeze kiss her cheek, and she inhaled the fresh air. Her gaze drifted from the puffs of white clouds against an azure sky to the Grand Plaza packed with strolling throngs gathered to see and be seen. A brassy, patriotic tune filled the air, and Marguerite headed toward the sound. She glanced at Lilly, whom she’d persuaded to accompany her on her promenade along the boardwalk. Lilly kept her eyes focused on the path ahead of them.

  Familiar well-to-do families nodded in greeting as they ambled along in front of the bandstand. A few gave Lilly’s modest gray dress a once-over and scowled.

  How could people be so cruel? This was a park. God’s creation. How could they think certain areas should be reserved for only the wealthy?

  “I should’ve stayed back at camp, Miss Marguerite. I don’t think these fine people like me being here.”

  Marguerite shot Mrs. Winnifred Long a defiant stare. “I don’t care what they think. You’re my friend, and I want you with me. Besides, people from all over the city come to the lake every day.”

  “Not to this part. Maybe you should see if your sister will come for a visit from town. She’d be a more suitable companion.”

  “I’d love for Mary to come, but it’s hard with a four-year-old. And as much as I love spending time with her, I happen to enjoy your company even more.”

  “But …”

  Understanding Lilly’s discomfort, Marguerite led the way past the crowd watching a juggler tossing five balls in the air toward a grove of shade trees off to the side. She settled in the grass. “This better?”

  Lilly gracefully slipped into place beside her. “Much, but I should’ve brought my mending.”

  “Can’t you simply enjoy yourself?” Marguerite took a deep breath, rejoicing in the fresh, lake-scented air.

  “I could mend and still enjoy myself.” Lilly fussed with the folds of her skirt.