Making Waves

by Lorna Seilstad

  Marguerite shrugged. “He knows a lot of people, and he’s become so sneaky. Every minute with him is pure torture.”

  “You should tell him the truth, Miss Marguerite.”

  “What do I say? ‘I’m sorry, Roger, but you bore me to tears’? Or perhaps I should send him a note. ‘Dearest Roger, I find very little about you to which I am attracted.’ Or maybe I should wait until he proposes and say, ‘Roger, I can’t stand to be in the same room as you, let alone share a bedroom with you.’”

  Lilly scowled. “My mama would wash your mouth out with soap if she heard you say that. A lady doesn’t talk about such things. I’m surprised at you.”

  “But don’t you see? I can’t tell him that.”

  “You don’t have feelings for him, and he should know that. God would help you say it – properly.”

  Marguerite slid beneath the crisp cotton sheets. “Daddy will handle it.”

  “I don’t understand you. You stand up for yourself in every other way, why not this one?”

  She fluffed her pillow. “One word – my mother.”

  “That’s two words.”

  Marguerite rolled her eyes.

  Lilly folded the gown and opened the trunk. “Deep down, you know I’m right.”

  “Maybe. I’ll pray about it.”

  “A you-telling-God-how-to-run-things prayer or a real Thy-will-be-done prayer?”

  Marguerite opened her mouth to speak, but clamped it shut. If it was God’s will that she marry Roger, could she do it? What was His plan for her? Had she even considered His will when she’d come up with the plan to learn to sail? The thought left her mouth dry.

  Even though Lilly usually took care of Marguerite’s evening toilet, tonight Marguerite sat in her bed and drew a brush through her own unpinned locks. Did she dare tell anyone the truth?

  Trip’s face came to mind. A few days ago, she’d thought of him as arrogant and rude, but now she found herself enjoying his presence. He was unlike anyone she’d ever met. If she told him the truth now and he dismissed her and Mark, she feared she would miss more than the sailing lessons.

  Lilly laid the horrendous lavender dress in the trunk, then moved to put on her own nightgown. After she’d washed her face in the basin, she crawled beneath the thin sheet on her cot. “Good night, Miss Marguerite. Sleep well.”

  “You too, Lilly.”

  Marguerite set her brush on the washstand, then doused the lamp beside her bed. Darkness entombed her, pressing in on all sides. The suffocating heat, suddenly more unbearable, made taking a breath a chore. Lilly’s steady breathing told Marguerite that slumber had already claimed her friend. Closing her eyes, she willed herself to sleep, trying to think of anything other than Trip, Roger, sailing, and lies.

  But her thoughts refused to submit. No, no, no. I cannot do this another night! I have to get some sleep.

  Marguerite stirred from the bed and pulled on a robe despite the heat. Stepping outside of the tent, she sought the comfort of her stars. Sorry, Lord. I know they’re really Yours. I don’t mean to get into Your territory by claiming them as my own.

  Warmth flooded her. Two years ago, she hadn’t even had an ongoing conversation with the Lord, her best friend. Back then, she hadn’t even known Him – at least not personally. Sure, her parents attended obligatory services on holidays and enough Sundays to keep them from being considered heathens, but neither of them walked with the Lord like Alice and Lilly did. As Marguerite grew up, she’d wondered why God was so important to them. Then she’d found out.

  Walking along the edge of their camp, she saw the lake glistening in the moon’s pale light. Marguerite was transported to another lake, where her life had changed. Two summers ago, Aunt Carolyn had asked her to come stay with her in Chicago. Marguerite never dreamed she’d get the opportunity to go to Chicago, not to mention the added bonus of seeing the World’s Fair.

  Much like the Lake Manawa resort, the whole city had teemed with life that summer, and Aunt Carolyn and Uncle Mort took her to the Columbian Exposition soon after her arrival. The Ferris wheel left her breathless. The original copy of Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre brought tears to her eyes. The grand, gilded, arched entrance to the Transportation Building awed her. And the Yerkes Observatory telescope on display in the Manufactures and Liberal Arts Building ignited her dreams.

  Yet it was a tent meeting outside the fairgrounds that changed her life. A friend of Uncle Mort’s had spoken. A man named Brother Brumback.

  Now, as the tangy breeze wafted off Lake Manawa, Marguerite could almost smell the lake where Brother Brumback had immersed her. She’d never felt so clean or free. Crowds on the bank had sung:

  What can wash away my sin?

  Nothing but the blood of Jesus.

  What can make me whole again?

  Nothing but the blood of Jesus.

  Another wave of guilt washed over her as sure as the lake’s tide. How long had it been since she felt whole? Her life had been split in half by lies – one lie with Roger and the other now with Trip.

  That day in Chicago, she’d given control of her life to the Lord. Was she now trying to take it back? Do things her way?

  She shook her head. God understands. He knows I have to do this. He does.

  An owl hooted above her head and she jumped. Senses on alert, she heard the rustle of canvas, followed by heavy footsteps. She froze. The footfalls moved away from her. She spun silently in the dirt, and her heart sank like an anchor. Those broad, square shoulders and that deliberate gait could belong to only one man. A man who could fix anything, right every wrong, and make her believe she could do or be anything.

  Her father.

  Not once had she ever doubted him, but something felt wrong. Why was he sneaking away in the dead of the night – again?

  9

  To Marguerite’s great relief, the noxious scent of glue and varnish no longer bothered her when she entered the boat shop. She pressed her hand against the stitch in her side. Once more, Mark’s dawdling had forced the two of them to ride faster than she planned.

  Mark tugged his cap into place as they crossed the threshold. “So what do you think Mr. Andrews will have for me to do today? Maybe shine his shoes? Walk his dog? Sew on a button?”

  “Mark …” She attempted to sound stern, but inside she swallowed a giggle. “Be fair. A few days ago, he took us out on the Endeavor, and I think it was a reward for all your hard work.”

  “Some reward. I got sick.”

  “But that wasn’t Mr. Andrews’s fault.”

  Passing into the workshop, Harry told them they’d find Trip outside on the pier. She spotted him inside a small twelve-foot sailboat, big enough for a couple of passengers. What had he called it? A dinghy? The sound of the word made her want to giggle again.

  Trip looked up from the rope he was winding and wiped his hands on his tan trousers. “Mark, I didn’t think you’d be late on your first day to sail.”

  “Sorry, sir, I – did you say I get to sail?” Mark’s eyes widened. “You’re actually going to start teaching me?”

  Trip chuckled. “I’ve been teaching you all along.”

  “I know. Just not …”

  “Just not what you wanted to learn.” He stood up in the center of the boat, one arm on the mast. “Let’s get started.”

  Marguerite studied the precarious vessel. Would it hold all three of them?

  Trip looked at her and laughed. “Yes, it’s big enough for you too. Climb aboard.”

  “And how exactly am I supposed to do that?”

  “One foot at a time.”

  Bracing her hand on a post, she lowered one boot into the flat-bottomed keelboat, glad she’d opted for the Turkish pants over the looser divided skirt.

  “Don’t worry. This isn’t as tippy as you think.” He took her other hand and held it firmly. “Now, let go of the post. Come on. Trust me.”

  Marguerite did and felt the boat tilt. She stumbled, falling into Trip.

 
He caught her waist. “No lively stepping in here, Marguerite. Just take your seat.” He pointed behind her to a darkly varnished plank seat wedged in the front of the small boat.

  She half sat, half fell into the seat in a most unladylike fashion.

  A wide grin spread across Trip’s face, but he didn’t voice his thoughts. Instead he stepped over the middle seat and sat next to the tiller. He motioned Mark into the empty seat in the center.

  “What do I do now?” Mark asked. “Untie the boat?”

  “First we have to learn the parts of the boat.” Trip explained that starboard was always the right side when looking toward the bow, and port was the left. He nodded toward the mainsail and showed Mark what knots he’d used to attach it to the mast and boom. The mainsheet, he patiently clarified, was the line that controlled the boom.

  Marguerite soaked in each word and found Trip’s explanations simple and thorough, but when he came to telling Mark that the leeward and windward sides depended on the direction of the wind, she shook her head. She would never get it all straight.

  “Can you say that again?” she asked.

  Trip cocked an eyebrow at her.

  “I, uh, don’t think Mark got that last part. Did you, brother?”

  “To be honest, I don’t think I got most of what you said, Mr. Andrews.”

  “You’ll figure it out. Now, let’s go over it again.”

  When Trip finished drilling him, Mark still understood only half of the terms. He tugged nervously on his plaid cap. “I’ll never learn all this.”

  “Of course you will. It just takes time and practice.”

  “That’s what Mrs. Johansen said about fractions, and I still haven’t got those down.”

  “But I’m sure I’m a better teacher than Mrs. Johansen.”

  Mark rolled his eyes, and Marguerite shot him a look of warning.

  “Listen up, Mark.” Trip placed his hand on the mast. “This is important. If you hear ‘Boom coming across,’ duck.”

  “The boom’s that arm thing coming from the mast with the sail attached, right?” He turned to his sister. “Marguerite, did you get that? Mr. Andrews, do girls duck too?”

  “No, I believe my mother would insist I dip or bob.” Marguerite feigned a curtsy from her seat.

  Trip flashed her a dimpled grin. “Your sister can call it anything she likes as long as she does it,” he said. “And another thing. Remember back in the shop what I told you about me doing the thinking? Out here that goes double. If you don’t know something, ask. If you can’t do it, say so.”

  She recalled his lessons in the workshop and smiled. Trip Andrews was a better teacher than she’d credited him for.

  “Yes, sir.” Mark nodded.

  “Okay, untie that dock line from the cleat, and we’ll cast off.”

  Trip kept the sail lowered until they’d cleared the other boats, then told Mark to hoist the mainsail. When its edge started to flap, Trip shouted for him to pull it a bit tighter. Immediately the sail billowed and the boat picked up speed. Soon it tilted to the starboard side, and Trip motioned for Mark to sit closer to the other side. “Do you recall on my boat how the guys positioned themselves on different sides to keep the boat from tipping too far? This one is so flat-bottomed that’s not likely to be a problem, but you can shift to either side to balance it better.”

  Marguerite lifted her face to the wind. “This boat isn’t as fast as yours.”

  “True. It’s not meant to be. You have to learn to crawl before you can run.” He turned the boat a bit to the right. “And mine better be fast if I’m going to win that regatta.”

  “I heard you and Harry talking about that the other day.” She sent up a silent prayer that Trip wouldn’t become angry with her for eavesdropping, but her curiosity burned. “Why is it so important to you?”

  Mark frowned at her. “Why do you ask so many questions?”

  “Trip said if we wanted to know something to ask.”

  “He said if I want to know something. He didn’t say anything about you.”

  “Know-it-all kid. Does he get that from you?” Trip chuckled, glancing at Marguerite. “Mark, treat your sister with respect, and what I said goes for her too. Now that I know you really are listening to me, Mark, switch places with me.”

  Marguerite’s jaw dropped. “Already?”

  “I can do it,” Mark insisted.

  “It’s up to you since you’re supervising his lessons,” Trip said, his dimples deep as craters. “Do you want him to learn to sail or to be a passenger?”

  “Go ahead, Mark. If Mr. Andrews thinks you’re ready, then you must be.”

  Her heart took residence in her throat as she watched her brother gingerly exchange seats with Trip. Shifting to the right, she could barely see her brother over Trip’s broad shoulders. Mark looked so small. What if he was too young to handle this? If he got hurt, she’d never forgive herself.

  “Mark, take hold of the tiller. Get a feel for it. Turn a little to the right. That’s it. Good job.” Trip glanced at the sail. “We’re sailing with the wind about thirty degrees off our backs. That’s called sailing on a broad reach. It isn’t as fast as running, but it’s still a good clip.”

  The power of the wind filling the sail propelled them over the slightly choppy surface of the water. Closing her eyes, Marguerite tried to imagine the thrill that she’d feel if the dinghy responded to her touch with a charm all its own.

  “You’re hooked, aren’t you, Marguerite?” Trip asked with a lilt in his voice.

  Her eyes popped open. “Pardon me?”

  “You’ve got a love affair with the water.”

  Warmth infused her cheeks.

  Turning away quickly, he trimmed the sail and secured the line again. “I’m sorry. That’s hardly an appropriate thing to say to a lady.”

  “No offense taken.”

  “It’s just that I’ve seen it before. Be careful. You can end up doing anything to get in a boat. I just don’t want you to get too attached to it – being a lady and all.”

  Marguerite stiffened. Trip had her pegged. Was he also trying to warn her?

  “You know where you’re headed?” Trip asked Mark. “You can’t get anywhere in life if you don’t know where you’re going.” Trip turned and pointed to the docks near the streetcar turnabout. “Head that way.”

  Mark yanked the tiller toward the starboard side. The boat jerked in response.

  Trip frowned and covered Mark’s hand with his own. “Easy. Feel it in your hand through the tiller.”

  Mark lowered his head. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get this.”

  “You will. Give yourself some time. It just comes naturally to some folks, and others have to learn it. Hey, think about it this way – even Harry can sail.” Trip laughed.

  Marguerite grinned when she saw Mark’s tense shoulders relax.

  A few minutes later, the wind swept in, bending the trees on the shoreline. The boat leaned to one side. Mark groped for something to hold on to and, in the process, turned too quickly. Trip grabbed the tiller, put the boat back on course, and then sat on the far side of his seat. The craft righted itself.

  Mark’s eyes widened. “What happened?”

  “When the boat leans, it’s called heeling.” Trip held out his hand and tilted it sideways in explanation. “It’s normal, remember? Sometimes a sailboat can be nearly lying sideways in the water.”

  Mark’s face paled and he pressed his fist to his stomach. “The water isn’t as calm as it was.”

  Trip’s eyes searched him. “Mark, if you’re going to be sick, you need to say something.”

  “I’m fine.” He pulled his hand away and took a deep breath.

  “Sure you are. Let’s talk about something besides the water.”

  Grateful for Trip’s attempt to distract him, Marguerite sat up and nodded. She considered repeating her question about the regatta’s importance, but Trip spoke before she had the chance.

  “So, I’ve met y
ou two and your father.” Trip swung around and straddled the middle seat. “Is your mother enjoying her summer at the lake?”

  Marguerite and Mark shared a knowing look, and Marguerite giggled. “Not at all. You might say she’s here despite the lake. What about your mother? Does she like it here?”

  “Apparently she didn’t.” His face darkened. “She ran off on Dad and me when I was five.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Marguerite swallowed the lump in her throat.

  “It wasn’t your fault. Dad said she could never be trusted. I’ll tell you one thing, Mark, the woman who I’ll take as a wife will be trustworthy in every sense of the word.”

  His words pricked her heart. She winced inwardly. If trust meant that much to him, how would he react if he ever discovered her subterfuge?

  Too late now. What’s done was done.

  “You looking for a wife, Mr. Andrews?” Mark clenched his teeth and held his hand over his belly. “Or you got someone special already?”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  The dinghy bobbed in the increased wind, clearly doing nothing for her brother’s turbulent stomach.

  “I’m just trying to keep my mind off how awful I feel.”

  “Attaboy,” Trip said. “Well, I’m not seeking the marrying kind of special.”

  Mark looked surprised. “You aren’t?”

  “Maybe someday. Right now, well, let’s just say I’ve got more important things to do than worry about finding a woman I can trust.” His hazel eyes glinted like hard mica.

  Marguerite turned her face away as disappointment fluttered within her. Had his mother’s desertion tainted his future that badly?

  Trip leaned forward and took hold of the mainsail’s rope. Halyard, Marguerite thought. I have to remember the correct terms.

  As he lowered the sail, he explained that he was shortening it because the wind had picked up. He glanced at Mark. “We’re not too far out. Another five minutes and we’ll switch places.”

  “I see girls giving you that moony-eyed look all the time,” Mark persisted. “Don’t you like any of them?”

  Marguerite cringed. Why couldn’t Mark let this subject go? Couldn’t he see Trip was trying to change the topic? Sure, Mark, he’ll tell you, a twelve-year-old boy, all about the women aching to cling to his arm. All he has to do is give them one of those charming dimpled grins, and they’re putty in his hands.