Making Waves (9 page)

“Off?” she squeaked.

“When we clamp the pieces together, all that extra glue will seep out.” Ignoring her, he spoke only to Mark. “Lesson one. If you don’t know something, ask.”

And if you want him to know something, tell him
.

Trip watched Mark remove the excess glue, then pointed to the far end of the mast. “Now, we’re going to put one half of the mast on top of the other. Whatever you do, Mark, don’t drop it. If it cracks, we can’t use it. I’ll lift my end and you lift yours, on three.”

Trip counted aloud and the two of them lifted the heavy piece of wood. Mark strained beneath the weight.

“Do we need to put it back down?” Trip asked.

Mark shook his head, but as they reached the other half of the mast, his step faltered. The board slipped from his fingers and landed in place with a thud. Trip’s brow creased in a scowl.

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t hold it any longer. It was too heavy.”

Trip laid a hand on his shoulder. “Lesson two. If you can’t do something, then say so. There are no heroes on the water.” Moving to a barrel, he reached inside, pulled out a set of wet leather straps, and tossed them in Mark’s direction. He wiped his hands on his white cotton shirt, leaving a smear of water. “Now, tie these on the mast every two feet. As they dry, they’ll clamp the wood together. And don’t let your sister help you. Tomorrow, when the mast dries, the real fun begins.”

“And until then?” Marguerite asked.

“You go home.”

He had to be joking. They’d been there only an hour. What about sailing? “Home? But I thought . . .”

The corners of his mouth curved. “Lesson three. Here, I do the thinking.”

Marguerite whirled and stomped away, afraid to say another word. Outside the boat shop, raw fury burned inside her. How dare he take their money, use Mark in the shop like a hired hand, shout at her for helping him, and then send them off after only an hour with no boat instruction whatsoever.

She climbed on her bicycle and pedaled away, vaguely aware of Mark calling to her. Maybe she’d been wrong about Trip Andrews. There had to be other instructors on the lake.
Ones
better suited to work with me – I mean Mark
.

Legs pumping like a freight train, Marguerite rode off into the distance. Trip chuckled from the doorway. Her brother would never catch her now. Maybe the work wasn’t what they had expected, but he figured they’d be back. At least, she would. Fierce determination shone in those crystal blue eyes, and the spark he saw in them, as she ran her hand along the mast just before she left, had said it all.

Trip shook his head. He had to remember she wasn’t the student.

Poor brother. Mark didn’t stand a chance with a sister like that. Although young and a bit impulsive, the boy appeared teachable so far. Trip walked back inside the boat shop and headed for the workshop area. Checking the first of the leather straps on the mast, he nodded. At least the boy hadn’t argued, even when Trip deliberately provoked him. But Mark appeared to give up easily, and that worried him.

“Hey, Trip, what do you think of your new student? Pretty wet behind the ears, isn’t he?” Harry set down his varnish can and brush and crossed the work area.

“Yeah, but not any younger than you or me when we first started out.”

“Eons ago.” He clapped his friend on the shoulder. “But I think it’s the girl you gotta worry about. Did you notice how moony-eyed she got when she just looked at your
Endeavor
?”

Trip checked the tightness of the rest of the leather thongs around the mast. “Can’t blame a lady for recognizing quality.”

“Do you think the boy will be able to stick with it?” Harry took a seat on a barrel, picked up a splintered piece of wood, and chewed on it like a toothpick. “Those rich boys aren’t used to hard labor.”

“We’ll see. If he survives tomorrow, then maybe – just maybe – I’ll take him out before the end of the week.”

Harry laughed. “You’re getting soft. Used to be you’d wait two weeks.”

“I don’t know. This one seems different.”

“And you wouldn’t mind getting in good with his sister.”

Trip feigned ignorance. “Who?”

“You aren’t fooling me. I saw the way you looked at her, but hey, like you said, you can’t fault someone for recognizing quality. Never saw anyone take to sailing like she did the other day either. You’d have thought she was born on a boat.”

“Harry!” Captain Andrews bellowed. “What’s this mess?”

Harry hopped to his feet. “All I ask is that you find out if she has a sister.”

Roger arrived at the Westing camp in search of Marguerite. His business meeting with the other investors developing Lake Manawa’s Midway ended much earlier than he’d anticipated, and one of the benefits of being a wealthy man was not having to return to the office right away. Noticing her bicycle gone, he rubbed his chin. Last night, she’d said that she and Mark would ride this morning, but since it was almost 2:00, she should have returned long ago.

Perhaps he could hunt her down. Once they were married, these impulsive wanderings would stop. He’d watched his own father handle his mother’s assertiveness, and he knew that Marguerite’s, too, could be eliminated in time. It was almost a shame. He admired her spunk, but it wouldn’t do in a wife.

The nursery rhyme “Peter, Peter, Pumpkin Eater” popped into his head. When Marguerite was secured in his pumpkin shell, he would certainly keep her very well. And all the while, he’d be free to enjoy her beauty every day.

She might never love him, but she would learn to respect him.

That he could guarantee.

In asking around for the names of other sailing instructors, Marguerite learned two things. No one else would take her and her brother on as students. And Trip Andrews was considered the best.

Marguerite also discovered that wandering around with Mark in tow did have its benefits. As long as her brother walked beside her, she could investigate the docks and no one seemed to notice. Even when she perched on one of the railings to watch Trip Andrews’s
Endeavor
raise its pristine sail and cross the seven-hundred-acre lake, no one said a word. Had she been alone, all sorts of sensibilities would have been ruffled.

Two small, regal sailboats raced one another across the lake, leaning heavily to the side and skimming lightly across the surface. A few days ago on the boat, a thrill had shot through her. How long would it be before she felt it again? It wasn’t fair. Why did men keep this incredible world of beautiful vessels closed to her and all women?

And as a woman, I’m not supposed to care
.

Mark kicked the earth and muttered words against Trip Andrews that no lady would say. She’d never felt free to express herself like that, but men were free to do it all the time. They could say anything they pleased, and they didn’t have to care how they walked or how they sat or if their hat was pinned at just the right angle.

She made a mental note to jot down the idea in her journal. It would make a good topic at the next suffrage meeting: the unexpected joys of manhood.

After wandering the dock, they remounted their bicycles and pedaled along the path to their campsite. She came to a sudden stop just outside the tents.

“What are you doing?” Mark asked.

“Look who’s coming.” She moved off the path, behind a clump of trees. Disappointment swept over her. Roger was here again. She’d hoped summering at the lake would set her free of having to constantly see him. Why did he have to keep showing up at the most inopportune times?

“Why do you care if Roger sees us?”

“If he sees me in my cycling outfit, he’ll ask where we’ve been. He knew we were supposed to ride this morning, not all day long.” She dismounted. “I’m going to hide my bicycle behind the camp. You can go get it for me when the coast is clear.”

“And what are you going to do?”

“Figure out a way to sneak into my tent and change.”

“What difference does it make if he knows the truth?”

“You know Roger. He’ll probably tell Mother and ruin our fun.”

“So far I haven’t had a lot of fun.”

Reluctantly, Mark agreed to fetch her bicycle. She eased down the dirt road behind the campsite. Even from the back of the camp, she could see Roger sitting on the wicker rocking chair in full view of her tent. What was she going to do now?

A fresh idea made her pulse quicken when she glanced toward the Grahams’ camp near their own, where clothes hung out to dry on lines. Emily Graham was about the same size as her. But stealing clothes? Lying about her whereabouts was bad enough, but taking something that didn’t belong to her? She just didn’t think she could do it. Then again, she wouldn’t exactly be stealing a skirt. She’d be borrowing it and would return it before its absence was noticed.

She scanned the camp to see if anyone was watching, then darted to the clothesline before she lost her nerve. Yanking the plainest skirt free, she raced back into a grove of trees. She leaned against a large tree trunk, skirt pressed to her chest, and caught her breath.

A dog barked, and she jumped.

Lord, You’re enjoying yourself now, aren’t You?

She slid the skirt on over her Turkish pants and buttoned it in place. Removing her hat, she pulled the pins free, shook out her hair, and let it fall about her shoulders. Not perfect, but it would do as long as she didn’t run into her mother.

Worrying her lip between her teeth, she slipped out of the dense trees and into the clearing behind their camp. After she spotted Isaiah head toward the water pump, she eased behind the men’s tent and walked up the center of the camp.

“Marguerite, I’ve been looking for you,” Roger said, rising to his feet. “A new skirt?”

“Sort of.” She sat on the settee. “I’m sorry I didn’t see you come in. What brings you to the lake this early in the afternoon?”

“Remember, I’m working with some other men on further developing the Midway. We’re trying to arrange the addition of a carousel. I wanted to surprise you.”

“You certainly did.” She squeezed out a smile.

He dropped his gaze to her skirt, then looked into her eyes. “So I’ve been here at the lake most of the day.”

“Oh?” Her heart pounded. Had he seen her and Mark? Of course not. The Midway was the other direction.

“Yes, I thought I might run into you.” His voice gave no indication either way. He motioned to her approaching father. “You should probably rest after your busy day – cycling. Your father and I have some personal business. If you’ll excuse us.”

She gave him a weak smile. “Gladly.”

Making it into the haven of her tent, she dropped on the bed and heaved a sigh.

The tent flaps flew open and Lilly breezed in.

Marguerite jolted and pressed her hand to her chest. “You scared the life out of me.”

“Expecting someone else in your tent?”

“Heavens no!”

Lilly giggled, then paused and eyed the skirt. “Where did you get that?”

“It’s a long story, and right now I just want a nap.” She flopped back on the bed and closed her eyes.

“Uh-uh-uh.”

Marguerite moaned and opened one eye.

Lilly waved her finger in the air. “No rest for you. Mr. Roger called on your parents while you were out playing and asked for you to join him at a dance at the pavilion tonight.”