Making Waves (17 page)

Taking a deep, solidifying breath, she turned to him. “Roger, did you really mean what you said? You know my father couldn’t possibly be a risk in any way. He’s an excellent businessman.”

Roger got up and moved in front of her, impossibly close. “You don’t know him as well as you think you do.”

“What do you mean by that?” She took a step back, distancing herself from him. His piercing eyes made ice water flood her veins.

“Things aren’t always what they seem to be, Marguerite.” He closed the distance she’d created and loomed over her.

Please, Lord, make him go away. How about a nice meteor
strike?

He took hold of her shoulders. “But I don’t want to discuss that with you now. I have other things of pressing importance.”

Her mouth went dry.

“I will be leaving the city on business for a couple weeks.”

She fought the urge to smile and covered any traces by bringing the blossom to her lips.
Thank You, Lord! Talk
about working fast
.

“Your presence will be missed, Roger.”

It wasn’t a lie. He might not be missed by her, but Marguerite felt certain her mother would notice his absence.

“That’s kind of you to say.” He stared into her eyes. “When I return, I intend to ask for your hand in marriage.”

“Roger, I – ”

“Don’t say anything now.” Before she could move away, he pulled her close and kissed her as if she belonged to him and him alone.

She yanked back, hating the feel of his whisker-covered mouth against hers. “Roger! What are you doing?”

His mustache twitched when he smirked. “I just wanted you to realize that you’re already spoken for.”

11

Too rattled to allow Roger to see her home, Marguerite insisted she could find her own way. Thankfully, he was in such a hurry he didn’t argue with her.

She now wandered the boardwalk alone. Her stomach, soured by the news of Roger’s intentions and his possessive kiss, left her without any hunger pangs. Even more nauseating was the knowledge that she had she let him leave without telling him the truth. God had given her the perfect opportunity, and she’d let it slip away.

She spotted a large tent pitched in a grove of oak trees that picnickers frequented. The tent was filled with individuals attending a revival, and rising strains of “The Old Rugged Cross” tugged at her turbulent heart. She crossed the lawn and settled in one of the wooden folding chairs near the back.

Kerosene lamps lit the tent, and within a few minutes of her arrival, a tall, angular man was introduced as Brother Davis. Given the late hour, Marguerite guessed he was probably the second speaker of the night. He paused at the podium and raked his gaze over the crowd. When he spoke, his baritone voice was as smooth as pulled taffy.

“God doesn’t change, brothers and sisters,” he began. “He’s been the same from the beginning of time until today. And man hasn’t changed much either. What was the fundamental issue underlying what happened in the Garden of Eden? It was truth. Who spoke the truth to Adam and Eve – God or Satan? Who were they going to believe? And what was the first sin? A lie.”

The mere mention of the word renewed her guilt. Was the Lord spoon-feeding the preacher the words just for her? And why did it seem Brother Davis looked directly at her? She nervously glanced around at those gathered. They bobbed their heads, agreeing with his words.

“And since then, man hasn’t stopped lying, and God hasn’t stopped being God. Jesus describes Himself as the way, the truth, and the life. He is truth, and He values truth above all things.”

Brother Davis went on to work the audience into a fever, telling them that God wants to be worshiped in spirit and in truth. “God is spirit. God is truth. He requires His worshipers to be compatible with His very nature. There it is, brothers and sisters. He tells us exactly how He wants us to love Him. How He wants us to worship Him daily, with every breath, without lying to ourselves in the process. We worship in spirit without worshiping in truth. But you can’t do one without the other.”

Guilt niggled at Marguerite like the mosquito that buzzed around her face.
But I wasn’t really lying. Not saying anything
isn’t the same as lying, and the things I told Trip were
just little fibs. They aren’t going to cause the fall of man or
anything
.

Brother Davis stepped down from the pulpit and stood directly in front of the crowd. His voice, deep and low, filled the tent. “Earlier I said God doesn’t change and man hasn’t changed. Guess who else hasn’t changed? Satan. He’s still trying to get folks to believe lies. And what are the biggest lies he wants us to believe? The ones we tell ourselves. ‘I’m not that bad.’ ‘It’s not that important.’ ‘It won’t hurt anyone.’”

Marguerite touched her fingers to her lips, the words pricking her conscience. Her gaze landed on a man four rows in front of her. All afternoon she’d watched those broad shoulders pull lines and hoist sails. Even from the back she recognized him.

Trip Andrews.

“Truth and righteousness are intertwined. Since God is truth, pursuing God is pursuing truth. Satan wants you to believe lies because they bind you. They tangle you up and enslave you. And there’s only one thing the Word says will set you free. The truth. It’s your choice.”

The group rose to sing, and tearful men and women made their way up the aisle during the altar call. Marguerite fought the urge to join them. Did she value truth? Of course she did.

She shoved the desire to confess aside. It wasn’t needed. After all, she and God had an understanding about the whole sailing matter.

As the crowd dispersed, Trip appeared beside her. “Marguerite, what a pleasant surprise to see you here.”

“I must admit I didn’t expect to see you either.”

“There’s a tent meeting at least once a week, and I like to come to all of them that I can. Some speakers are better than others – Eli is one of my favorites.”

“Eli?”

“Brother Davis.” Trip motioned to the tall man who remained in the front, shaking hands. “I’ve known him most of my life. What did you think of the lesson?”

“To be honest” – she paused to giggle at her choice of words – “it was thought provoking.”

“I imagine it was for all of us.” A flash of lightning in the distance caught his eye. “Is your father’s carriage outside?”

“No. I took the steamer across the lake.”

“Alone?”

“I didn’t plan on staying this long.” She didn’t want to disclose that she’d originally been out with Roger.

“In that case, let’s get you home before you get soaked.” Placing his hand on the small of her back, he directed her through the crowds. But instead of taking her onto the dock, he ushered her onto the sand. Harry and Mel waved from a large wooden rowboat as they approached.

“Look who I found inside,” Trip called. “Thought we could drop her off on the way back.”

They’d pulled the rowboat halfway onto the sandy shore. It lacked the grandeur of the sailboats or the assuring chug of a steamer. It also lacked a proper escort. Marguerite’s nerves tingled. One woman with three men after dark?
Scandalous
hardly covered it.

Marguerite stepped back. “I don’t want to trouble you.”

“It’s no trouble. Come on.”

She hesitated. “Trip, it isn’t . . . proper.”

Another flash of lightning. Marguerite counted six seconds between the strike and the thunder.

“You won’t get home on that little steamer.” Trip nodded toward the boat. “Looks like they’ve already loaded as many passengers as they can hold. No one will know you’re with us. We’ll be discreet.”

She glanced at the
Liberty
bulging with passengers.

“Marguerite, do I need to make this an order from the captain?”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you enjoy telling me what to do.”

“Somebody has to,” he teased.

The steady
whop
,
whop
,
whop
of the steamboat told her that her options were now gone.

Trip touched her arm. “You were with me all morning in a boat. Think of it like another lesson.”

She sighed and let him lead her down the sand until they were a few yards from the boat.

“Wait here,” Trip told her. “I’m going to help the guys get the rowboat in the water.”

“Shouldn’t I get in first?”

“No, it’s easier if you get in after she’s out in the lake a bit.”

“Do I need to take off my shoes?” She knotted her blowing skirt in her hand.

“No, I promise you won’t get wet.” He looked skyward and chuckled. “Well, at least not from the lake.” After pausing to take off his shoes and socks and roll up his trousers, Trip jogged to the sturdy craft.

Thunder sounded in the distance. Thick clouds rapidly covered the stars. If they didn’t hurry, she would most certainly get wet.

Trip returned. “Ready?”

She nodded.

Before she realized what he was doing, Trip scooped her into his arms. Instinctively she wrapped her hands around his neck. “Trip! Put me down!” Her heart fluttered as his whiskered cheek touched her own.

“Shhh, you’ll have every man who didn’t make it on that steamboat out here ready to hang me. Stop wiggling. We’re almost there.”

He sloshed into the knee-high water and stopped at the boat. “I’m going to put you down now. Don’t try standing back up. The water’s already rough.” He deposited her on the seat in the stern. Harry and Mel had filled the last two seats, leaving Trip to take the one facing her.

The boat rocked as he climbed in, but the men held it steady. With practiced ease, the men attached the oars into the pegs and dipped them into the rough water.

Marguerite found herself mesmerized by the amount of distance the three oarsmen could cover. Still, they were only halfway across the lake when she turned her face toward the blackened sky and a plump raindrop landed squarely on her nose.

“It’s starting to rain.” Harry’s oar slapped the water’s surface.

Trip looked at the sky. “Lightning’s still far off, so we’re safe. Marguerite, you okay?”

“I won’t melt in the rain.”

“That’s not what I meant. You’re quiet.”

“I was quiet today in the sailboat.”

“But it about killed you.”

“No it didn’t.”

“Remember tonight’s lesson?”

“Okay, so maybe I was tempted to say something once or twice.” She shivered as the sprinkles trailed down her neck. A gust of wind shook the boat, and she grabbed for the sides. “Right now I was thinking about what Brother Davis said.”

Trip never stopped rowing. “What part?”

“I was wondering if Eve realized how much damage her one little lie did.”

“No lies are little. Someone always gets hurt.”

Lightning zigzagged across the sky above them. Thunder followed seconds later. As soon as the three men rowed next to the dock, Trip vaulted to the pier and secured the boat. Marguerite felt like a hot potato with Mel passing her to Harry, and Harry relinquishing his hold to Trip before she climbed onto the dock.

“Thank you.” She held her hat in place against the wind. “If I hurry, I may manage to keep from getting doused. Thanks again.”

She turned to leave, but Trip caught her elbow. “You don’t think I’m going to let you walk home alone, do you? Especially in a storm?”

“My camp is less than ten minutes away.”

Even shadowed by the stormy sky, his face creased with a scowl. “I’ll walk you home, but I need to make sure all the boats are tied down for the storm first.”

Harry clapped his back. “You go ahead. We’ll handle the boats.”

“Good. Just make sure – ”

“He’s as bad as his father,” Mel joked. “Thinks we don’t know what we’re doing if he’s not around.”

Trip laughed. “Come on, Marguerite. Let’s get you out of the rain.”

Truth be told, other than the sprinkles while on the lake, the sky had yet to release its burden. As they walked briskly down the path toward her camp, they settled into pleasant conversation about the revival and their faith in the Lord. Trip told her how he’d come to know the Lord when he was fourteen.

“He’s been the Captain of my boat ever since.”

“And you’re the first mate.”

“No, I’m more like Mark – the bumbling student.”

“Poor Mark. He’s trying so hard.”

“Sort of. He’s young, and he’s not used to working for what he wants. He’d rather let you do the work for him.”

She stiffened. “Are you saying he’s spoiled?”

“Probably.”

“Just because my father has money doesn’t mean he’s spoiled.”

“No, things don’t spoil children, people do.” He paused as they reached a long row of tented camps off to the side of the Grand Plaza. “Which one is yours?”

“Fifth one down. You can leave me now.”

“I didn’t mean to offend you, Marguerite.”

“I guess the truth hurts sometimes.” She shivered in a gust of wind.

Trip slipped off his striped jacket and draped it over her shoulders. The heat from the jacket, still warm from his body, seeped into her goose-pimpled flesh. A whiff of sandalwood and cedar made her inhale deeply. She had smelled that same woodsy scent when they’d danced.

“Trip, you’re right. My mother does spoil Mark. She bails him out of things and doesn’t make him finish what he’s started. So if he comes to you and wants to quit, don’t be surprised.”

“If he wants to quit, I can’t stop him.”

“But you can encourage him to keep going. He needs that.”

“I’ll do my best.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “You’d better go. Still don’t want me to walk you the rest of the way? Don’t want your daddy to see you come home with a man?”

“No, more like my mother.”

“I’d think she’d simply be relieved you were back on a night like this, but I’ll stop here and keep an eye on you till you get there.”

“You know, you aren’t at all like I originally thought.”

“I hope that’s a good thing.”

“It is.” Thunder cracked and lightning flashed across the sky. She grabbed his arm, her fingers digging into his shirt.

He patted her hand. “You surprise me too.”

Before she could ask him to explain in what ways, the clouds burst. “Go!” He gave her a gentle push down the path.