Making Waves (4 page)

Marguerite plucked a blossom and handed it to her friend. She pulled Lilly to her feet and turned her toward the lake. “And those sailboats! Aren’t they splendid? Look how they glide across the water like they’re floating. Can you imagine what it would be like to be on one of them? It would almost be like flying on your own magic carpet.” She leaned against the tree trunk and sighed. “If only I could . . .”

Lilly turned, brows scrunched together. “I know what you’re thinking, and you’d best get that thought right out of your mind.”

“Why shouldn’t I learn to sail?”

“Because ladies don’t sail boats. Because your mama would have a fit. Because you don’t know the first thing about being on a boat. Because you can’t swim worth a lick.”

“But I’m a quick study.” Marguerite opened the frilly layers of her white parasol. “I’ve even had a year at the university.”

“Oh, you’re smart enough. It just isn’t done.”

“That isn’t fair. A woman could sail as well as any man.”

“Maybe so, but it isn’t gonna happen, so don’t go setting your heart on something you can’t have.” Lilly brushed a wisp of chestnut hair from her eyes. “You’ll just get disappointed like you always do.”

Marguerite swung the parasol down. “If we don’t have dreams, Lilly, what do we have? Besides, aren’t you the one who always says to delight myself in the Lord and He will give me the desires of my heart?”

Lilly shook her head. “Only you can twist the Scriptures to get what you want. Seems to me the only thing you’re delighting in is the idea of doing something that would make your mama have a conniption.”

Gliding across Lake Manawa, the
Endeavor
sliced through the water with ease. Trip motioned to his crewmate and best friend, Harry Fellows, to adjust the mainsail. Although he usually sailed the thirty-two-foot
Endeavor
with a crew of five, today he and Harry decided to take her out alone. With the perfect breeze, sailing took little thought, so each of them methodically set to work.

“Can you sheet in the jib?” Trip asked.

Harry moved toward the smaller sail and tugged on a line. “All set, Trip. You know, she’s one fine ship. I never asked you what your dad said about her.”

“You know him. Nothing I do is ever as good as it is when he does it.”

“He’ll change his tune when we win the regatta.” Harry tipped his head to the side and raised a single eyebrow.

“Glad to see you’re as confident as ever. I guess we do have over two weeks to prepare. By the way, did you see the boat the Hendersons brought down from Spirit Lake?”

Harry laughed. “Those pretty boys? They don’t know a rudder from a centerboard.”

“And you do?” Trip tossed a rag at his friend’s mass of dark curls.

Lightning quick, Harry caught the towel and threw it back, but it fell short of its target.

“Ready to tack.” Trip glanced at his mate to make sure he’d heard his announcement.

With one hand Harry secured a firm grip on the coarse lifeline surrounding the deck and grabbed the jib sheet with his other hand.

“Tacking.” Trip turned the tiller to the right, and Harry let the jib sheet free. Soon the edge of the sails began to flap wildly. They were in the no-sail zone, and a beginner would have stopped turning at this point. But Trip had been on the water most of his life and knew he had to keep the tiller pressed hard to the opposite side. He looked at Harry and shouted, “Boom coming across!”

They both ducked as the boom swung over their heads, and Harry set to trimming the headsail while Trip adjusted the tension on the mainsail. Trip moved the tiller back toward the boat’s center and slowed down his turn as the sails began to fill with air on the new tack. Now, heading straight, the boat picked up speed. With water spraying against his face, Trip nodded toward Harry. The turn had gone as smoothly as glass.

Even though they were not in full race mode, they were making good time. If they could keep this up, they might have a chance at winning the Manawa Regatta, and he might have a chance at finally impressing his father. It was a good thing too.

He had to win.

It was a matter of life and death.

“Isn’t she beautiful, Daddy?”

Edward Westing watched Marguerite lean over the white railing in front of the pavilion as if she couldn’t get close enough to the sailboats. Wispy, honey gold curls danced across her forehead. The gauzy snow-colored skirt billowed around her ankles, swirling in the breeze, and the rose jacket hugged her narrow waist, the color making her cheeks blossom. His daughter, the spitting image of his wife as a young woman, never looked more beautiful.

“So this is what you dragged me out to see?”

Marguerite nodded. “I’ve been enjoying the view all afternoon. Can you imagine what it must be like out on one of those?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever thought of it.” He leaned his hip against the rail.

“I told Lilly that it must be like flying.” She glanced at her father. “Daddy, I want to learn to sail.”

Edward laughed. His youngest daughter had never been one to adhere to the confines that society dictated. To her mother’s horror, she insisted on attending the university, rode a bicycle, wrote for the suffrage paper, read everything she could get her hands on, and spent hours studying the stars instead of practicing the piano. While he admired her spirit, he walked a fine line between Camille’s desires for Marguerite and Marguerite’s desires for herself.

He filled his lungs with the tangy lake air. “Darling, you know that ladies do not sail. Rarely, you might see one as a passenger, but it’s much too grueling a sport for ladies to participate in.”

“Then, can I go as a passenger?” Her eyes, blue as the water in the afternoon sun, sparkled. “Please, Daddy.”

“I don’t know, Marguerite. It could be dangerous.”

She waved off the comment. “I’ve been watching them all day. It doesn’t look one bit dangerous.”

“I haven’t heard of any of those pond yachts taking on passengers.”

“But we haven’t really tried to find out, either.”

“No, I guess we haven’t.” He chuckled. “You know, you get me in a lot of trouble, young lady. I’m not making any promises, but I’ll see what I can do. Now, we’d better hurry or you’ll be late for dinner – again.”

The smile slid from her face.

“What’s wrong?”

“One more night of enduring Roger. Mother invited him to come in from town to join us for dinner.”

“Sweetheart, does he really make you that miserable?” He offered her his arm, and the two of them started back toward their camp, steps crunching on the pebbled path.

“It’s not that Roger doesn’t have admirable qualities. He’s basically thoughtful, and he’s well-mannered to distraction. I’m sure some girl will find him wonderful.”

“But you don’t.”

She sighed. “No. He is impossibly tiresome. You know, it’s like spending the afternoon at one of those long meetings you complain about. I’ve honestly tried to find things that I could like about him, but he doesn’t make me feel special.”

“I kept telling your mother that he wouldn’t. I knew he wasn’t right for you from the start.” He squeezed her hand.

“How?”

“He’s a selfish chap. He likes the sound of his own voice far more than he could ever like anyone else.”

“So you won’t make me marry him?”

“Have I ever been able to make you do anything?” Edward stopped and plucked a petunia from an overflowing planter. He tucked it behind her ear. “When you decide to marry, I want it to be to someone who holds your heart and not just a large pocketbook. You deserve that, sweetheart. You deserve to know the kind of love that takes your breath away. Now, let’s get to dinner before your mother has us both hung by the yardarm.”

She kissed his cheek and slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. “Thank you, Daddy, for everything.”

4

Rigging the mainsail, Trip readied the
Argo
for passengers. Much larger than the
Endeavor
, the keelboat had been built by his father to impress the wealthy lake patrons. For a fee, he allowed them to enjoy the lake from aboard a sailboat. Sure, two small steamboats ferried guests across the lake, but the steady chug of a steamboat felt nothing like gliding over the water in a sailboat. More than one lake patron had fallen hook, line, and sinker for the sport of sailing, and if they were fortunate, the wealthiest then asked Trip’s father to build them their own boat.

“Lloyd, where’s Harry?” Trip glanced around the
Argo
.

The lanky sailor shrugged. “Must be running late.”

“Just don’t let Dad know.”

Stepping from belowdecks, his father scanned the ship. “Don’t let me know what?”

“Nothing, Dad.”

“Where’s Harry?” Weathered wrinkles deepened across his father’s brow.

“He’ll be along any minute.”

“I told you if he was late again that he was done here.”

Trip tensed and checked the rigging on the mainsail. “Dad, we need him. He’s a great sailor.”

“Great sailors are made. They aren’t born.” Captain Andrews slapped his captain’s hat against his leg, then jammed it back on his head. “Just train a new one.”

As if it were that easy. Trip had taught sailing to several young men during the summer for the last two years, and so far only a few seemed to have a feel for the sport. They couldn’t afford to lose Harry, especially with the regatta so close.

“Dad, I’m sure he has a good reason. He always does.” At least he did now. There was a time when that certainly had not been the case.

Harry ran down the dock and hopped aboard with practiced ease. “Sorry I’m late. I got stopped by someone who wants to sail with us today.”

Trip cast an I-told-you-so look at his father. “Who did you meet?”

“A local businessman.” Harry immediately began coiling a rope. “Said he and his daughter want a ride.”

“Did you tell him we don’t allow children?” Trip’s father scowled at the young man.

“He said she was a young lady of age.” Harry draped the rope on a peg. “He said he’d pay double if we let her on.” He pulled out the cash and waved it in the air. “Paid in advance.”

“Must be ugly as sin,” Lloyd piped up, slugging Mel.

Harry shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. I didn’t see her.”

By the time they were ready to cast off, three men had appeared, but not the young woman or her father. Trip cast a quick glance at the crowd on the pier and spotted a flurry of commotion. A young woman darted out of the crowd, dressed in a pearly shirtwaist and matching skirt, and ran along the dock. She held her wide-brimmed white hat in place with her gloved left hand and hiked her skirt with her right. The satin ribbon tails on her hat trailed behind her as she rushed. Oblivious to the aghast looks from the ladies watching her, she pulled an older man along – presumably her father. She stopped at the back of the boat and waved.

“Ahoy there!” she called.

Captain Andrews shot Harry a stern look, but the curly-haired young man held up a shiny fifty-cent piece. With a grunt, the skipper turned to his son. “Oh, good grief. Trip, go get her before she falls flat on her face running on the dock like that.”

Hopping over the lifeline, Trip met the two on the dock. He stared in disbelief. Could this be the same girl he’d rescued the other night? Then her drenched hair had seemed dark, and now it shone like spun gold in the sun.

“You?” Her azure eyes grew wide.

“Running on the dock again? No, wait, I remember, you step lively.”

She smiled, revealing a dangerously impish grin. “I do just that. We came for our sailing excursion.”

“We were expecting you.” Trip offered his hand to her father. “Hello, sir. I’m Trip Andrews, first mate of the
Argo
and son of her captain.”

The man extended a beefy hand. “Edward Westing, and this is my daughter Marguerite, but it appears you have already met.”

“Actually, we haven’t officially met. I pulled her out of the lake the other night.”

“That was you? I don’t know how I could ever repay you.”

“I’m just glad she’s all right. Ready to come aboard?”

Marguerite nodded and stood on her toes as if the anticipation alone would make her explode. Trip chuckled. He led her to the transom at the back of the boat and hopped onto the
Argo
. “Give me your hand and I’ll help you get on. Take one big step up.”