Making Waves (19 page)

“I didn’t say anything.” Trip turned the tiller into the wind.

“I didn’t go anywhere near Stone’s place. I swore to you I’m done with that, and I am.”

Trip nodded. “I hope so. I just know there are a lot of temptations down there.”

“There are a lot of temptations everywhere.” Harry adjusted the mainsail. “Trust doesn’t come easy to you either, my friend, but you’re going to have to start giving me the benefit of the doubt. It’s been a year, and I think I’ve earned it.”

“You’re right,” Trip mumbled. “Sorry.”

Trip turned and caught her eavesdropping. Marguerite averted her gaze, but it was too late. Anger flashed in his hazel eyes, and his lips turned downward. “Mark, go help Lloyd hoist the jib.”

Even though the sailboat picked up speed once the second sail was unfurled, Trip told Harry to go ahead and put the spinnaker up as well. When it billowed under the headwind, the
Endeavor
flew across the water toward the buoy that marked their turning point.

Trip announced he was about to tack, and Marguerite prepared to duck when the boom came across. The ship heeled so far she had to reach for the lifeline. She fixed her eyes on Mark, who had turned positively puce. If he got sick now, the results could be disastrous. He could go overboard. With the others busy, no one seemed to notice him.

The ship evened a bit, and she made her move. Legs wobbling, she took a position beside him on the leeward side. Trip shouted. She grabbed the lifeline just before the ship dipped deeply to one side, setting the sailboat at a forty-five-degree angle to the water. Blood racing, she followed the others in holding the line.

If this wasn’t flying, it had to be the next best thing.

Mark’s face was now the color of the caps on the waves. She grabbed hold of his jacket with one hand. “Mark, hold on! Don’t think about it.”

Trip eased the turn and the boat leaned less, but Mark spun and got sick over the side. Marguerite helped him back, her heart plummeting with the water’s dwindling swell.

“Trip, you might make a sailor out of her, but I don’t know about the boy.” Harry secured the jib sheet after the next crisscross in the water.

“I have to admit she seems more of a natural than he does.” Trip turned toward her and raised his voice. “But she needs to stay where I tell her.”

Pride swelled inside Marguerite like rising dough in a warm oven. She quickly punched it back down, recalling that “pride goeth before a fall.”

Besides, today would be her last day. She’d already made a promise to God. After this last experience, Mark would want to quit, and she’d vowed to support his decision.

Her pulse thundered.
Lord, do I really have to give this up?
I’m not sure that I can. It just keeps getting better
.

She pulled herself to her feet. The wind threatened to yank off her hat, and she caught it with her hand as she made her way back toward her seat in the stern.

“Tacking,” Trip said.

Marguerite thought it odd that a week ago she wouldn’t have known what tacking was, and now it seemed like a term she’d known her whole life.

“Boom coming across!”

She glanced at Trip. Why was he shouting?

Then she saw it. A gust of wind whipped the boom from Harry’s hand and it swung wildly for her.

Her mind yelled,
Duck!

But her body didn’t listen.

At the last second, she lunged out of the way. The boat dipped and her footing on the deck slipped. Arms flailing, she fought to keep from falling. She lost the battle when the boom tapped her head and sent her flying over the lifeline, directly into the depths of Lake Manawa.

12

“She can’t swim!”

“What?” Fear wrenched Trip’s gut at Mark’s words. “But – ”

“She can’t swim. She lied to you. She doesn’t know how to swim.”

“We’re losing her!” Harry shouted. “She can’t reach the life preserver. It’s too far away.”

Mark hung over the edge. “Stop the boat and get her.”

“Sailboats can’t stop on a dime.” Harry hauled him back by the waistband of his britches.

Trip shook off the shroud of panic threatening to consume him. His crew knew how to handle these emergencies. They’d practiced them dozens of times, and just as they’d trained, Harry refused to take his eyes off Marguerite since the moment the boom struck her. Lloyd tossed the cork life preserver overboard with a precise aim, only to have the waves carry it outward. As captain, Trip instinctively began a rescue turn.

“Mel, take the tiller. Bring her about on Marguerite’s leeward side.”

“She’s got the preserver now,” Harry said, “but she’s having trouble holding on.”

“That hit on the head must have dazed her. Get ready to haul her out.” Trip’s blood raced. He kicked off his boots, stood on the bow just long enough to sight her, and then dove into the lake. Keeping his head above water, he kept her in his view, making determined strokes through the choppy water. Pulse hammering, he prayed God would let him reach her in time.

She can’t swim. She lied to me
.

Still, guilt assaulted him. She was his responsibility and he’d failed. No novice could possibly have known that the boom could swing like that on a windy day if someone lost their hold on it.

The life preserver slipped from her grip.
Please, God, no!

Muscles straining, he pushed harder. When he’d come close enough, he dove deep into the murky water. His eyes burned as he looked for her.

A dark object appeared a few yards below him. Lungs aflame, he pushed harder. His fingers wrapped around a piece of fabric, and he held it fast as he made strong scissor kicks with his legs until he broke through the surface. He drew the unconscious woman up beside him.

Fury and worry mixed in generous portions propelled Trip toward the sailboat. He ignored his burning muscles. Marguerite, breath shallow, awoke with a jerk, thrashing in his arms, and Trip nearly lost his grip on her. “Easy. I’ve got you.”

She settled into him – he feared she was too weak to fight – and let him drag her along.

She couldn’t swim.

She’d lied.

To him.

He’d been completely duped by her. His one stipulation he’d told her directly. No one got on his boat who couldn’t swim. No one. Ever.

“Trip?” she croaked.

“Don’t try to talk.”

“I’m sorry.”

She fell silent again and grew even more lax in his arms.

“Don’t go back to sleep!” he shouted, wasting precious air. “Stay with me.”

They reached the
Endeavor
. “Get that line down here,” Trip yelled. “We’re going to have to hoist her up.”

Lloyd and Harry sent down the rope tied with a harness.

Trip caught it in his free hand. “Can you tread water so I can get this around you?”

“I . . . I can’t swim.”

“I know.”

He drew the loop around both of them, and she put her arms through it.

“Listen. I’m going to let go of you and slide out of the harness.”

She stiffened against him.

“You just make sure you have both arms through it. The guys will tighten it when I move. Whatever you do, don’t panic. Understand?”

She nodded against his shoulder.

He slid away, ready to catch her. As soon as Harry saw she had both arms in, he yanked the line so hard Trip knew it would leave welts. Marguerite, shivering in the swells, clung to it.

He grabbed her chin and forced her to face him. His heart lurched at the sight of her eyes wild with fear. “Listen. I have to get on board to help hoist you up.”

“You’re leaving me?”

“Just for a minute. The boys won’t let go. You’re going to be fine.”

Trip swam to the back and scrambled aboard. He sucked in great gulps of air but allowed himself only seconds to catch his breath before joining his mates.

The
Endeavor
heeled so far now that Marguerite was only a yard beneath their reach.

“Bring her up.” Trip stretched over the safety line.

She winced when the lifting began but didn’t cry out. When they’d hoisted her to within reach, Trip snagged the collar of her jacket and hauled her aboard.

“Trip, I’m sorry. I didn’t think it made a difference if – ”

“Stop.” Trip lowered her onto a seat at the stern. “Harry, get this boat moving. Miss Westing is going home.”

Betrayal.

Marguerite saw it in Trip’s eyes. Bitter, furious pain oozed from him like a festering wound. Worse than that, the deafening silence. He hadn’t spoken another word to her. After feeling the goose egg–sized lump the boom left, he’d silently gone back to the helm, taking his position at the tiller and sending Harry to sit with her.

Harry eased into the seat beside her. “So, if you wanted to go for a swim, you should have said so.”

Marguerite gave him a weak smile. Head throbbing, she pressed her hand to the back of her neck.

“Feeling woozy?”

She nodded. Immediately regretting the action, a moan escaped her lips. She glanced at Trip. Did she see concern, mixed in with all the other emotions, playing across his face?

“It’ll pass,” Harry assured her. “I been knocked on the head by more than one boom, and look at me. I’m fine. If you want, you can put your head on my shoulder.”

Trip glared at him. “No. We don’t want her going to sleep.”

“Ah, Trip, she’s going to be fine.”

“We’ll let a doctor decide that back on shore.”

“I don’t – ”

Harry squeezed her hand. “Don’t argue with him now. Trip and I have been friends for a long time, and that calm you’re seeing is only about half a hair from becoming one hurricane of a storm.”

When they docked, Marguerite listened to Trip bark orders at his crew. Anger seethed from him like a volcano on the verge of exploding. If he only knew how much like his father he sounded, he’d be ashamed.

She didn’t argue when Trip ordered Lloyd to fetch a doctor or when he told Harry to take her up to his room on the upper level of the boat shop. But when he followed them into the room and told Harry he needed to go find her mother, she could no longer hold her tongue.

“No! You can’t do that.”

Trip arched a dare-me eyebrow at her. “And why not, Miss Westing?”

“Please, she thinks Mark and I are spending time with a friend today.”

“So you lie to her too.”

“No, that’s the truth.” She met his cold eyes. “I do consider you a friend.” A wave of dizziness made her grab for the footboard on the bed.

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.”