Making Waves

by Lorna Seilstad

  “Oh.”

  Taking one pail in each of his large hands, he carried them inside and deposited them near the chicken-wire frame he’d created. Like his boats, he’d created a piece of art.

  “What do you think?”

  “Trip, it’s perfect.”

  He beamed. “It’s chicken wire.”

  “It won’t be for much longer.” She crossed the workshop and brought the bolt of cloth over. “We need to cut this into two-foot lengths. Do you have a knife?”

  Trip produced one from his pocket, and together they commenced making a pile of cheesecloth rags.

  “Now for the fun part.” Marguerite sank the first strip of cheesecloth into the paste, withdrew it, and ran her hand along its slippery sides to remove part of the glue. “Do you want to do the honors and put the first one on?”

  Bending at the waist, he swept his arm in front of his body. “I believe it’s customary for a woman to do the christening honors.”

  She grinned and draped the soggy piece over the chicken-wire stern. “I christen you the battleship …” She glanced at him to fill in the blank.

  “Marguerite.”

  “You want to name a battleship after me?”

  He chuckled. “Seems appropriate.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I christen you the USS Marguerite. May she fight as well as I do.”

  “I should’ve expected that.” A teasing glint sparked in his hazel eyes. “Do I get to help too?”

  “Absolutely.” She took a strip and lowered it into the mixture.

  “Now what?”

  “Just watch again. First you take your hand and run it down the strip to take some of the paste off. Like this.” She demonstrated, and the slurry oozed between her fingers. She laid the cloth across the wire frame. “Then you have to smooth it out.”

  He ran his hands along the slippery surface beside hers. When their hands touched, he cleared his throat. “I think I’ve got it now.”

  She swallowed hard and pulled her hands away, willing her frantic heart to still. Her eyes darted to Trip. Only the pulse ticking beneath his eye gave notice that the encounter had jarred him.

  We can do this. We can at least be friends.

  Marguerite cautioned Trip that they shouldn’t make the first layer too thick or it wouldn’t dry. When they finished with the frame an hour later, Marguerite attempted to wipe the paste from her caked arms with a piece of wood. “Look at me. I’m a mess.”

  She glanced at Trip. With his face dotted and his well-defined arms coated, he resembled some sort of specter.

  He wiped the worst of it off his hands with a rag. “This is useless. Let’s go for a swim.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I saw you carrying your swim bag. Isn’t your suit inside?”

  “Yes, Lilly and I are going for a dip later, but – ”

  “Good, you can show me how well you’re doing on learning to swim.” He didn’t let her protest. Instead he snagged her bag from the workbench and thrust it into her hand. “You can change upstairs in my room. I believe you know where it is.”

  “But Trip, what will people say if they see us?”

  “We’ll swim here – out back. No one is around this time of the day besides Dad and me. If it’ll make you feel better, it’s time for him to come down for some fresh air. He can come out and sit on the dock while we swim.”

  Marguerite hesitated. That should be fine. No one would question Captain Deuce Andrews as a chaperone, and with his father watching, Trip would do nothing that might get either of them in trouble. Besides, she did need to wash up, and a dip in the lake would feel divine.

  Before she could change her mind, she hurried up the stairs.

  By the time Trip emerged with his father, Marguerite was sitting on the dock, her black-stocking-clad feet dangling in the water. Immediately Trip’s eyes traveled to her shapely calves and ankles. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

  “She looks good in a bathing suit, huh?” his father whispered as Trip settled him in a deck chair.

  “Dad, she’s engaged.”

  “Haven’t you fixed that yet?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Whatever you say, son.”

  Marguerite turned and waved to them. “Hello, Captain. You’re looking much better.”

  “Thanks, Miss Westing. You look pretty good yourself.”

  “Dad!” Trip whispered.

  “Oh, go on and enjoy yourselves. See if you can change her mind about you-know-who.”

  “I don’t know if I can. She thinks she has to marry Roger Gordon or her family will go broke. Her dad has a gambling problem and lost everything.”

  “So she doesn’t love this Gordon?”

  “I don’t think she even likes him.”

  His father frowned, deepening the wrinkles on his weathered face. “I may not be the best father in the world, but there’s no way on God’s green earth that I’d let you suffer the rest of your life because of my mistakes.”

  “I know you wouldn’t.” Trip glanced at her. She’d removed her hair pins, and her long gilded locks reached past her waist. He swallowed hard. “But it has to be her decision.”

  “Can’t you at least do a little persuading?”

  “Dad, believe me, I’m going to try.”

  Marguerite watched Trip jog down the pier, dive off the end, and glide into the water without a splash. Surfacing, he tossed his head back. “Why are you still sitting there?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “How deep is the water?”

  “At the end, it’ll be up to that pretty little sailor collar, but you’ll do fine.” Moving closer, he held out his arms. “Jump.”

  Marguerite did. Trip caught her in his arms, lowered her feet until they touched the silt-covered bottom, and then released her. The moment his hands left her waist, she wished them back. So much of the last few weeks had been tumultuous, filled with threats and fears. But when Trip held her, she felt secure and safe.

  You’re engaged. Stop daydreaming about Trip like a schoolgirl.

  He motioned to the open water. “Show me what you can do.”

  “You want me to swim?”

  “You said you’ve been practicing.” He grinned, his eyes daring her. “Or was that a lie too?”

  Marguerite frowned. “Lilly’s been teaching me.”

  “Good. Then let’s see it.”

  She took a deep breath and awkwardly propelled herself forward. Lilly’s admonitions rang in her ears. Reach with your arms in big circles in front of you. Kick with your legs like scissors. After covering about six yards, she stood up. “Well?”

  “She taught you the rescue stroke. Good work. Can you do the crawl too? The one I showed you.”

  “Sort of, but I have to get my face in the water for that.” She wrinkled her nose again.

  “You don’t have to, but it’s a lot easier if you do. As a matter of fact, Miss Flour Freckle, I’m thinking that getting your face wet is a good idea.”

  She wiped a remaining smudge of flour from his forehead. “That’s the pot calling the kettle black.”

  “Okay, I’ll race you back to the dock.”

  “I can’t beat you.”

  “Not up to a challenge?”

  Hoping to gain an edge, she catapulted forward. Despite her rapid departure, she knew he’d still overtake her, but at least it gave her a modicum of a chance. When she reached the pier, she found him waiting. She held onto its edge and tossed her head back. “That isn’t fair.”

  “Life isn’t fair, Marguerite.”

  “You’re telling me.” Her words came out laced with bitterness. What was she doing? Being with Trip made her say things she shouldn’t, feel things she’d given up, and think about things she’d already put to rest. She quickly swam away as fast and as far as she could.

  “Hey, Marguerite, catch!”

  She whirled and a ball landed directly in front of her, splashing her face. Using both hands, she swiped away the water
. “This means war, Trip Andrews.” She yanked up the ball and headed for him.

  Just friends.

  Remember that.

  Spiking the ball in front of him caused a fountain of water to hit him squarely in the face, giving him the perfect reason to retaliate. She knew he would. Maybe that’s what she wanted.

  She shouldn’t want it. But she did.

  After an enjoyable afternoon of working and then swimming with Trip, the evening with Roger seemed even more tedious. As a belated birthday gift, he insisted on taking her into the city for dinner at his home, followed by a performance at the Dohany Opera House.

  His mother had their cook prepare a special dinner. Even though she and Mrs. Gordon tried to discuss the Water Carnival plans, Roger monopolized the conversation and insisted on her complete attention. To her surprise, Mrs. Gordon accompanied them to the performance of the play Alabama in the newly restored theater, and introduced her to many acquaintances as her son’s fiancée. A few offered the couple congratulations, and Roger’s chest puffed with pride.

  The play, a Civil War story, transported Marguerite to another place and time. However, all too soon it was over, and once again she found herself on the arm of dreary Roger Gordon. After escorting his mother home, they took the streetcar back to Lake Manawa.

  When Marguerite made a genuine attempt to engage Roger in a conversation about the moving play, he brushed her off, saying the play was a melodramatic waste of time.

  Marguerite tried again. “Your mother is delightful.”

  “She approves of you.” The streetcar halted and he pulled her to her feet. “She means the world to me. If anyone ever disappoints her, I’ll …”

  He let his words die like the setting sun. Did she sense another threat? Just how far would Roger go to get what he wanted?

  He walked her back to her camp and leaned in for a less than chaste kiss. Marguerite squirmed free of his embrace and distanced herself.

  “We’re engaged, Marguerite. You can kiss me with a little more passion than that.”

  She clenched her hands together. If I felt any passion for you, then I might be able to. “I’m sorry, Roger, my thoughts are elsewhere this evening.”

  “With that ridiculous Water Carnival.”

  “Yes, of course I’m thinking about it. It’s only a few days away, and I have a lot of responsibilities. But I’m enjoying the planning a great deal. I’d like to do more of these events in the future.” She stopped when Roger’s eyes darkened, hooded with a desire that made her shiver. “Roger, are you listening to me?”

  Without warning, he grabbed her face in both hands. “You are so beautiful. I can’t believe you belong to me.”

  She tried to pull back, but he held fast. “Belong to you?”

  Crushing her lips, he kissed her again, the feel of his shaggy mustache making her nauseous. She brought her hands up between them and pushed him away. “Roger, you will refrain from that kind of indulgence until we are married. Is that clear?”

  He snickered. “Sure, Marguerite. Until then.”

  For Marguerite, the next three days were a blur of activity. Each morning, she worked on various aspects of the Water Carnival. The shipment of fireworks arrived, and Trip and some of the men began planning out the pyrotechnic display, which would imitate the naval battle firing between the boats and forts. Phyllis Dodge, the supervisor for those making Chinese paper lanterns, bedecked every nook and cranny of the Yacht Club with one of her elaborate creations. Marguerite flitted from one area to the next, checking on the progress of the committee assigned there. Excitement coursed through them all like the electricity that powered the streetcars.

  But it was the afternoons Marguerite relished. Two blessed hours spent with Trip, and often the rest of the crew, painting the papier-mâché pieces for the USS Marguerite. Thankfully she’d persuaded Trip to call it simply the USS Maggie. Since only her father called her that, it couldn’t possibly upset Roger.

  Marguerite hurried to gather her things inside the Yacht Club. Today she and Trip would be putting the final touches on the boat, and she couldn’t wait.

  Stepping outside the crowded Yacht Club into the warm afternoon, she paused and took a deep breath. Even the lake air seemed laced with anticipation.

  “Hello, Marguerite.”

  She jolted. “Roger, what are you doing here?”

  He rose from the park bench and faced her. “Can’t I come to see my fiancée?”

  “Yes, of course, but you know how busy I am.” She attempted to step around him, but he caught her arm.

  “Perhaps I could help.”

  “Do you paint?”

  He chuckled. “No, I can’t say that I do.”

  “Then perhaps you can go inside and help the men plan the fireworks display. A group of them are gathered in the parlor.”

  “And where are you headed?”

  “To the boat shop. There’s a boat there that needs a few last-minute touches.”

  “That only you can provide.”

  “As a matter of fact, yes.” She attempted to step around him.

  He caught her shoulders, pulled her close, and kissed her lips.

  When he released her, she covered her lips with her hand. “What do you think you’re doing? We’re in public!”

  Roger looked over her shoulder, his lips curling in a triumphant smirk.

  She turned to see who or what had his attention. Trip. Hurt flickered in his eyes, and his roguish pirate smile melted from his face like candle wax.

  Roger tapped her nose. “I guess my work here is done.”

  Whirling away from both of them, Marguerite held her hand flat against her roiling stomach. The acidic taste in her mouth foretold the future – what she’d face day after day with Roger.

  Run. Somewhere. Anywhere.

  She raced around one of the many ice sheds to be alone and propped her hand against the rough wall. Taking great gulps of air, she tried to quell her churning stomach and whirlwind of emotions.

  A man’s hand on her shoulder made her spin around, much too quickly. The face before her rippled, and she swayed.

  “Whoa.” Trip steadied her. “You okay?”

  She nodded but didn’t pull free from his hand. “I just got dizzy.”

  “Are you ill? You look pale.” Genuine concern etched his amber-streaked eyes.

  “Not the way you think.”

  His expression said he wanted to ask questions, but instead he took hold of her elbow. “Let’s get you out of the sun and someplace cooler.”

  To her great relief, he didn’t take her back to the boardwalk. Rather, he followed the worn path that led to the back of the boat house. Inside, he helped her into a chair.

  “Why does she look like a haint?” Harry asked as soon as they came into the shop. “She okay?”

  “Can you get her a glass of cold water? With some ice? I think all of the excitement and the heat is getting to her.”

  “Sure, Trip. You sit tight with Marguerite. I’ll be right back.”

  She pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed at the moisture forming on her upper lip. “Really, Trip, I’m fine now.”

  His brow knit together in a deep frown, making him look a great deal like his father. After fetching a cloth from the workbench, he dipped it in a water bucket and wrung it out. He drew up a stool and sat facing her. “I hate seeing you like this.”

  “I’m sorry, but it hasn’t happened often.”

  “That isn’t what I meant.” He touched the cloth to her cheek.

  Marguerite leaned into his hand and prayed the cool rag would settle her churning stomach.

  “Marguerite, you can’t keep lying.”

  “I haven’t lied to you.”

  “I saw him kiss you.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.” She lifted her face, and he set the damp cloth aside. “Trip, I never meant for that to happen, but I haven’t lied to you about him.”

  “The only person you’re lying to is yourself
. You don’t love that man, and being with him is making you sick inside and out. You can’t keep living a lie.”

  “But my family – ”

  “Lord knows I understand that, but there’s got to be another way. Your father made money before, and he can find a way to do it again. God will provide.”

  If he’d yelled at her, she would have been able to fight back, but when he picked up both of her hands in his own, all her resolve vanished like the fluff on a dandelion.

  He searched her face. “Please, don’t marry him.”

  “Trip, I …”

  He squeezed her hands and let them go. Slowly he stood. The stool grated on the floor of the workshop. “It’s your decision, Marguerite. More than anything, I want you to be happy. I won’t push you or tell you what to do, but I also can’t do this anymore.” He looked around the workshop and sighed.

  Noticing the name USS Maggie had been outlined on the boat, she knew exactly what he meant. This had been their secret place for the last week – a place where they could pretend no Rogers, engagements, gambling debts, or lies existed.

  “If you stay with him, I can’t simply be your friend.” His voice broke when he spoke. “I love you. I hate the thought of that man holding you and calling you his. I can’t pretend this is enough anymore. Actually, Marguerite, I just won’t.”

  What could she say? He was absolutely right. She pushed herself to her trembling legs and left the boat shop in silence. At the door she met Harry bearing the glass of ice water. She waved him off, tears brimming on her lashes, and pushed past him.

  Her heart pounded with each step she took away from Trip. It was over. This time for good. Her fate had been sealed.

  At least God had let her feel truly loved.

  But would the pain of having lost that ever go away?

  He wasn’t there.

  Marguerite had arrived at the Yacht Club before breakfast and scanned the committee members for Trip’s presence. His absence underscored what he’d said yesterday, and the emptiness ripped through her.

  She forced herself to focus on the task at hand. With the Water Carnival only a day away, the men and women present were hard at work. A group of ladies chatted and giggled as they slid red, orange, yellow, and blue Chinese lanterns onto a rope. Another group continued to craft more elaborate lanterns to hang from the trees.