Making Waves

by Lorna Seilstad

  “Impressive. Maybe we should get you angry more often. We’d get a lot more done.”

  Trip glared at his friend, then removed another nail from between his teeth and pounded it in the same way.

  Lifting a board from the corner pile, Harry brought it over to where the two of them worked. “Okay, if you aren’t going to tell me, I’ll be forced to guess.” Harry passed the board to Trip.

  Trip aligned it with the last board and used a pencil to mark the places that needed to be shaved to make it fit perfectly. Moving to the workbench, he began to chisel the marked area.

  How could Marguerite do this?

  His anger surged and he gouged the wood. He tossed the worthless piece of lumber in the corner. Worthless. Like her. “Get me another one.”

  Harry chuckled and retrieved one. “Here you go – seeing as you asked so nicely. Okay, I know you’re mad as a hornet, so I’m guessing she probably lied to you again.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” Trip growled.

  Relax. It’s not Harry’s fault. He remeasured the plank. Why didn’t the physical exertion quell the fury he felt, as it usually did? How could he explain what he was feeling even to his best friend? Well, Harry, she said she loved me, but she didn’t mean it any more that my own mother did. It sounded childish and much too simplified for the situation.

  The more he thought about it, the more enraged he became with her, her father, and the whole mess. He’d been a fool to let himself get involved with the whole lot of them. After the boating accident, he should have listened to that inner voice that said he should have nothing to do with her.

  He took a deep, steadying breath. He needed to give Harry something or he’d keep on for days. “She just didn’t turn out to be who I thought she was.”

  Harry took the chiseled board, placed the new board against the hull, and nailed his end in place. “You know, Trip, someday you’re going to have to realize that we’re all just human.” He stood and scratched his cheek. “If we’re lucky, God blesses us with a few folks who are willing to look beyond the flaws and see the person we try so hard to hide. And if we’re blessed, we find someone who’ll love us anyway.”

  Before Trip could argue, Harry walked away. Scooping up his canteen, Trip downed a good half, tasting the slightly acrid influence of the metal. He screwed the lid back in place. Did Harry think Trip’s expectations of Marguerite ruined everything? He wanted to shout, “She chose to marry another man!”

  Trip threw the half-filled canteen toward the workbench. It hit the edge and clattered to the floor. Everyone in the shop turned to stare.

  “What are you looking at?” He glowered at all of them. “It’s over, and I don’t want to hear another word.”

  Chest constricting, he strode through the workshop’s back doors. He kicked an empty pail on the dock, and it clattered across the boards before splashing into the lake. He climbed aboard the Endeavor. With a sigh, he sank down on one of the seats and held his head in his hands. He was done with her. Finished.

  I survived without my mother, and I’ll do just fine without Marguerite Westing.

  Besides, by now she belonged to another man.

  Riding in the open-air streetcar back into the city, Marguerite bit her lip to keep the tears from escaping. The streetcar neared her stop, and she and her father stood. He cupped her elbow and lifted her overstuffed carpetbag, which held her unmentionables, two shirtwaists, a skirt, and Trip’s jacket she had yet to return.

  “A couple of days with your sister will do you wonders, Maggie,” he said as they stepped onto the cobblestone street.

  And so would a one-way ticket to the West Indies, but that would take money we don’t have anymore. Right, Daddy? Her heart squeezed and a tear fell from her eye. The past few days she’d lived in a fog. Her mother had been thrilled by the engagement and insisted on telling everyone, and each time she did, Marguerite’s hopes that something would save her died a little more.

  Maybe a few days away from the lake would help – not seeing the boats, not seeing her father, and definitely not seeing Roger.

  Or Trip. She missed him more than she thought possible. If she went to him, maybe …

  But he must hate her now.

  She let her father lead her up the familiar streets toward her sister’s home. He huffed as they made their way along Broadway and then up the hill on Willow.

  He stopped halfway up on Mary’s porch steps and kissed her cheek. “I’ll say my goodbyes here.”

  “Aren’t you coming in for a moment? Mary will want to see you.”

  “Not today.” He wiped his sweaty brow with a handkerchief. “Enjoy your time, but remember, Marguerite, you don’t need to tell her everything.”

  She nodded. Earlier he’d made it clear that her sister knew nothing of the events at the lake, and he expected her to keep it that way.

  “Yes, Father, I know all about keeping secrets.”

  She watched him leave before she knocked on the door.

  Mary opened it and gathered her into her arms. “I’m so glad you’ve come.” She linked Marguerite’s arm and led her inside. “Nellie can’t wait to see you. I’ve missed you so much this summer.”

  Marguerite set down her carpetbag. “Thank you for letting me come visit on such short notice. I hope it isn’t an imposition to you.”

  “Nonsense.” Mary held her at arm’s length. “Let me look at you. I can’t believe my little sister is an engaged woman. The summer sun has lightened your hair.” She paused and her brows drew together. “And apparently it’s stolen the shine from your eyes. Oh dear, this is worse than I thought.”

  As tempted as she was to lie and say nothing, Marguerite couldn’t do that anymore. “Can we talk about it later?”

  Her sister seemed to study her for a second, as if deciding whether she wanted to press the point. “Later then. For now, let’s get you settled and then have lemonade on the veranda.”

  Marguerite glanced around in search of her four-year-old niece. “Where’s Nellie?”

  “Napping. She’ll be awake in an hour or so. Actually, why don’t you go lie down too? You look like you could use a little extra rest.”

  A yawn escaped and Marguerite smiled. “I think you’re right.”

  “Older sisters generally are.” She motioned toward the winding staircase. “We set up the pink toile room for you. It has the nicest breeze at night. Go on up and make yourself at home.”

  “Thank you.” Marguerite climbed the stairs, found the room, and set down her carpetbag.

  Days of overtaxed emotions had left her drained, and it didn’t take long for sleep to claim her in the soft feather bed. She awoke with a start to a dim room and a gnawing stomach. She checked her watch and was surprised to see it read 7:00. Why hadn’t Mary wakened her?

  After a quick check of her hair, Marguerite hurried down the stairs and made her way through Mary’s well-furnished parlor. She followed the sounds of her niece’s giggles to the veranda.

  As soon as she spotted her aunt, Nellie scampered away from the ever-patient black Labrador, Hero.

  Marguerite squatted and gathered the toddler in her arms. “How’s my princess?”

  Nellie giggled. “Auntie Margweet, you wanna play hide-and-seek?”

  “Nellie, let Aunt Marguerite have her supper,” Mary said. “Why don’t you go inside and ask Miss Beulah to bring out your aunt’s plate?”

  With a skip in her step, Nellie hurried inside.

  “You should have woken me.”

  “I didn’t for selfish reasons. I want you to be rested so we can sit up all night and talk.”

  Tall, slender Beulah returned with Marguerite’s niece in tow. She carried a heaping plate of food in one hand and a pitcher of lemonade in the other. Beside her, Nellie precariously carried two tumblers. Beulah set the plate in front of Marguerite, then filled the two glasses. Marguerite thanked her and told her the food smelled delicious. The aging cook left with a smile on her wrinkled face.


  “It’s so hot this evening it’s like living in an oven.” Mary fanned her face and sipped the lemonade. “I know it’s better at the lake. I tried to convince Thomas to set up a tent for at least one week, but he’s afraid to have Nellie so close to the water. I suppose he has a point.”

  Marguerite immediately thought of her own experiences, and Trip hauling her out. “It can be a dangerous place.”

  “I wanna play.” Nellie tugged on Marguerite’s skirt.

  Marguerite scooped her up and blew raspberries on her tummy. When her niece’s giggles subsided, she righted her. “Why don’t you go get your doll and we’ll play hospital? I’ll show you how to be a nurse and take care of your sick patient.”

  Nellie scampered inside and returned a few minutes later carrying her German-made bisque baby doll and two bandage rolls.

  “Where did you get the bandages?” Mary cupped her daughter’s chin.

  “Miss Boolah gave them to me to play with.”

  “Miss Beulah is very kind.” Marguerite smoothed the doll’s dark, spiraling curls. “Why don’t you put your patient to bed in that wicker chair? Would you like that?”

  Blonde curls bobbed when Nellie nodded enthusiastically.

  “And here’s a blanket for your doll.” She handed the girl a linen napkin from the table. “What’s her name?”

  “Patience. Mommy named her. She said I needed patience.”

  Marguerite raised an eyebrow at Mary. “Patience?”

  “What can I say?” Mary refilled her lemonade glass from the flowered pitcher. “She’s definitely your niece.”

  With her doll tucked beneath her arm, Nellie moved to the other chair. She crooned singsong lullabies as she rocked her baby. Then she swathed the doll’s head in bandages until the poor thing looked more like a mummy than a plaything.

  Marguerite sipped the tart beverage and sighed. When had her problems stopped being about playing house and started being about building one with a man she couldn’t stand?

  Holding up the pitcher, Mary waited until Marguerite set down her glass to refill it. “Marguerite, I love when you visit – but why are you here?” She covered her mouth with her hand and giggled. “That sounded bad, didn’t it? What I meant to say was, I’m thrilled you’re visiting, but I can see something is troubling you and I’d like to help. You just got engaged, but you are far from ecstatic.”

  “Look, Mama, a black squirrel.” Nellie dropped her doll on the chair and tore through the yard after the little creature.

  The two ladies paused to watch her race to the oak only to lose her prey up the tree.

  “Marguerite, what can I do to ease your burden? Is it Mother? Is she pressuring you into this marriage?”

  “No, Mother isn’t pressuring me.”

  “You mean to tell me that you agreed to marry Roger Gordon of your own volition?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t understand. You’ve never even liked him. I know. You’ve told me that at least a hundred times.”

  “I can’t explain it.”

  “You mean you won’t.”

  “Either way the answer is the same.”

  Mary took a deep breath. “You’re serious?”

  Marguerite nodded, the tightness in her throat keeping her from saying more.

  A frown tipped Mary’s lips, and for a minute Marguerite feared her sister might force the matter. Finally Mary released an exasperated sigh. “All right then, I’ll let it go for now.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t get too excited. I have something else to ask you about. Have you noticed how stressed Father appears?”

  “Yes.”

  “I would have thought summering at Manawa would have helped, but when I saw him the other day for lunch, he didn’t seem himself at all.” Mary set her glass down and leaned forward in her chair. “What have you heard? Is business going poorly for him?”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  “Marguerite Westing, if I didn’t know you better, I’d say you were being deliberately evasive.”

  “Maybe.” She forked the last bite of her pork chop. “Anything else bothering you?”

  “Changing subjects? You are good.” Mary checked Nellie’s location with a quick glance and then leaned close. “As a matter of fact, I have a secret, and you must promise not to breathe it to a soul.”

  Secrets. The word soured Marguerite’s stomach. Secrets surrounded her. She pinched the bridge of her nose. “What is it?”

  “I’m expecting.” A smile set Mary’s face aglow. “Nellie is going to have a little brother or sister by Valentine’s Day.”

  Marguerite squealed and squeezed her sister’s hand. “That’s wonderful. How have you been feeling?”

  Mary wrinkled her nose. “In the mornings I’ve felt horrible. Thomas was so worried about me yesterday morning that before his business trip he almost sent for the doctor. But he calmed down when I told him the peaches we had for supper didn’t agree with me.”

  “Why didn’t you tell him the truth? That it was the baby?”

  The smile slid from her face. “I haven’t told him about being in the family way.”

  “Why not?”

  “He wanted only one child. Since it’s been four years, I thought he’d gotten his wish.”

  “So you aren’t going to tell him? Won’t the truth be obvious soon?”

  “Probably.” Mary pressed a hand to her stomach. “But I’m hoping I’ll find the right words before then. And praying that God will help him come to terms with it.” She paled. “I’m afraid dinner isn’t settling well. Would you mind terribly tucking Nellie in for me?”

  “Not at all.” As if on cue, Nellie ran up beside them. Marguerite pulled the girl onto her lap. “Would that be okay with you, Nellie-pooh?”

  “Will you read me a story?”

  “Better than that,” her mother answered. “Marguerite will tell you all about the stars.” She kissed the top of her daughter’s head and turned to leave. She stopped in the doorway. “And Marguerite, you’re right. When you love someone, they deserve to know the truth. I’ll tell Thomas tomorrow when he gets back from his trip.”

  Two hours, three books, and a set of paper dolls later, Marguerite slipped Nellie’s nightgown over her head.

  “Did you like the stars?”

  Nellie nodded. “And the story of your Camp An … an …”

  “Andromeda.” Instantly Marguerite was transported to the night she’d told Trip about their camp’s name. He’d rightly guessed that she felt like the chained maiden about to be devoured by a monster. Except she’d thought it was her mother who’d chained her, not her father.

  Marguerite blinked back the tears that flooded her eyes, drew back the covers, and watched her niece slide beneath them.

  “Aunt Margweet?”

  “Yes, sweetie?”

  “Why do you look so sad?”

  “My heart is broken.”

  “I have a bandage. I can fix it.”

  Marguerite fingered a curl. “I wish you could, little one. I wish you could.”

  22

  Adjusting her flower-bedecked straw hat, Marguerite took a deep breath and braced herself before entering the Yacht Club. After returning from the stay at her sister’s, she’d spotted a notice posted at the pavilion that said volunteers were needed to assist in planning the Water Carnival. Right away she knew she’d found the answer to her prayers. She simply had to escape her mother’s engagement party preparations. She didn’t want the party, and she certainly didn’t want the fiancé who came with it. What she needed right now was something to take her mind off the whole nightmare.

  Mary had tried to, and her joyous news helped. An added blessing had come when Mary told Thomas about the baby and he’d been elated. Mary explained that he’d kept telling her how happy he was with only one child because he didn’t want her to feel bad about not conceiving for so many years.

  Maybe the truth wasn’t always painful.

/>   Climbing the steps to the front door of the Yacht Club, Marguerite entered, and a pinch-faced man motioned her to the back. There she found the office door marked “Water Carnival.” She knocked and received a gruff “Come in.” She nudged the door open and stepped inside. A man with salt-and-pepper hair shooting from beneath a wide-brimmed straw hat bent over an oak desk. He muttered, “Just a minute.”

  “Captain Andrews?”

  His head lifted. “Well, if it isn’t the girl who broke my son’s heart.”

  “He told you that?”

  “He didn’t have to.”

  Marguerite looked at the floor. “It’s complicated.”

  “And it’s none of my business.” He motioned for her to have a seat. “So, you want to volunteer to help an old man organize the Water Carnival?” He rubbed his whiskered chin. “Well, seeing as how I don’t have anyone else beating down the door, I suppose you’ll do. You got any ideas?”

  “Can you tell me about the event first, sir?”

  A frown cratered the wrinkles in his weathered face. “Because I’m president of the Yacht Club, the task of putting this whole shebang together falls on my shoulders. With Trip getting second in the regatta, we got a whole slew of new boat orders, so I’ll tell you right now that I won’t have time to hold your hand.”

  “I understand, sir.”

  “Good. You’ll need to organize a committee of other women to help. The Water Carnival is to be the climax of the summer for all the visiting patrons. It needs to be spectacular.”

  “And who is footing the bill, sir?”

  The corners of his mouth lifted. “Practical. I like it. I have a commitment of funds from Colonel Reed, the Manhattan Beach Company, and the Electric Motor Company to purchase decorations and such.”

  “And would the ‘such’ possibly contain fireworks?”

  “You have an idea, don’t you?”