Making Waves (28 page)

She splashed him. “What do we do first?”

“Learn to float.” He demonstrated the buoyant position in the water. “Your turn.”

Slowly she lay back in the water, but immediately she sank and came up sputtering.

“Take a deep breath before you lie back, and relax. Pretend you’re rolling over a barrel.”

For a brief second she remained afloat. When she started to sink, he reached beneath her, placing his palm against her back and supporting her.

Jolts shot through him, not unwelcomed. Her eyes grew wide.

“Relax. I’ve got you.” He stepped closer, and his hip brushed against hers.

“I hope,” she breathed. It took her a few minutes, but finally she was able to let the water buoy her body.

He smiled in encouragement. “You can do this now. Take a deep breath. I’m going to let go.”

Cornflower blue eyes, filled with trust, locked on his own. He let his hand slip away. Arched in the water, she floated for nearly a minute. When she started to go under, he grabbed her hand and pulled her up.

“I did it!” She threw her arms around his neck.

He returned the embrace. “You sure did. Ready for the deep water?”

“Sure.” She started out and he caught her arm.

“I was teasing you.”

She turned and gave him a cheeky grin. “I know. Scared you, didn’t I?”

He shook his head. How could he tell her that everything about her scared him, and like watching a sinking boat, he was powerless to stop it?

Much to Marguerite’s disappointment, Mark announced he wanted to go back to camp. Trip planned to practice for the regatta one more time before tomorrow’s race and she wanted to watch, but no amount of cajoling could change the boy’s mind. Trip reminded her that Mark had endured quite a day. He asked her and Lilly to meet him at the tent revival that night, and afterward he wanted to show her something special.

“Ask your father to the revival too,” Trip suggested as they approached the boat shop.

“My father? He isn’t much for church attendance, Trip.”

“We talked about that last night. I’m hoping it’ll change.” Trip placed a hand on Mark’s shoulder. “See to it your sister gets back to camp without any side trips.”

Mark beamed. “Yes, sir.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Come on, Marguerite,” Mark said. “Hurry up. I’m hungry.”

“We can’t have that. Marguerite, you better go feed this growing boy.” Trip flashed a mind-numbing grin. “See you later, and remember, ask your father to join us tonight.”

The closer Marguerite got to Camp Andromeda, the more she began to think about her father’s after-dark activities. She still hadn’t had the chance to speak with him about the gambling and wasn’t sure what she’d say when the situation presented itself.

Lord, guide my words. Give me courage to face this and
courage for Daddy to change
.

Now, where should she start? Trip wanted her to invite her father to the revival. Maybe that was as good a place as any.

When she and Mark reached the camp, she sought out her father. She found him sitting on the wicker settee while her mother prepared for dinner. She slid in place beside him. To her surprise, he didn’t seem shocked by her request to join her at the revival, but he politely declined, saying that her mother had arranged a dinner engagement with the Prestons.

She studied him for a moment. He’d lost weight in the last month, but he didn’t seem to be harboring some dark secret. Perhaps Trip was wrong. Maybe her father’s involvement in gambling was merely sport. But either way, it was still wrong.

A familiar knot wedged in her throat. In her heart, she knew the truth.

“Daddy, about yesterday – ”

His voice deepened. “If you’ll forget you saw me, I’ll forget I saw you.”

“I’m worried about you.”

“Don’t be.” He smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You’ve been out in the sun, Maggie dear. Your cheeks are pink. What will your mother say?”

“That I’ll freckle.” The familiar nickname warmed her. Only he called her Maggie, and it seemed like weeks since he’d done so. “I played tennis and went swimming.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “With Trip Andrews?”

“And Mark,” she hurried to add.

He tapped her nose, and his lips bowed. “The color suits you.” With that, he stood. “I’d best go get ready before your mother comes calling. Enjoy your evening, sweetheart.”

She considered telling him to do likewise but figured he’d had enough enjoyable evenings lately.

“Why the frown, Maggie?”

“I’m afraid.”

“Sweetheart, I would never let anything hurt you. You know that. Don’t you trust me?”

The sadness that shadowed his eyes tore at her heart. “I do, Daddy, but . . .”

“No buts.” He pulled her into his arms. “I love you. Just remember that.” He released her at the shrill sound of her mother’s voice calling him to leave. “We’ll talk later tonight. Now, you go and have a good time with Mr. Andrews.”

Back in her tent, Marguerite and Lilly prepared for the revival. Marguerite’s thoughts kept turning to her father. Of course she trusted him not to hurt her. She wanted to tell him that she wasn’t afraid for herself but for him. And how did he know Trip had asked her to the revival? He seemed to be giving her permission to see him. But surely he knew of Roger’s intentions. She shook her head. Nothing her father did right now made sense.

She sighed and drew the brush through her wavy tresses. Roger would be back soon. What would she tell him? How would she explain Trip? What’s more, how would she explain what her father had been involved in? If Roger didn’t already know about it, he would never understand. He couldn’t tolerate weakness in others.

And she couldn’t tolerate him. She wrinkled her nose in the mirror. The scrunched face brought a slant to her lips. She set the brush aside and wound her hair on top of her head.

Lilly moved behind her, pinned it in place, and patted her shoulder. “Mr. Andrews won’t be able to focus on the sermon tonight if you get any prettier.”

“I think he’ll manage.” Marguerite held out her wrist and waited while Lilly secured the stiff cuffs. With its tailored fit and large leg-of-mutton sleeves, the purple walking suit she’d chosen for the evening was one of her favorites. She picked up the matching summer hat, hoping Trip wouldn’t think the abundance of lavender, pink, and white silk flowers, the trailing silk ribbon, and the small ostrich plume was too much for the casual evening.

“You’re quiet tonight. Have a lot on your mind?” Lilly secured her own much more modest bonnet.

“Just thinking about some different things.” Marguerite pinned the hat in place and tucked her watch beneath her belt. “I’ve decided to tell Roger the truth – I don’t have feelings for him, I never will, and I can’t accept his proposal.”

Lilly picked up her Bible and a smile lit her face. “About time.”

The tent revival left them all stirred. The preacher delivered a powerful sermon on the dangers of gambling. Marguerite wished her father were in attendance, and when she saw Trip speaking to the minister, she wondered if he’d already contacted Brother Davis concerning her father.

Before she could ask, he whisked her and Lilly away, explaining they’d better hurry if they wanted a good view of the attraction at the beach. With the setting sun, Marguerite expected the patrons to begin boarding the steamboats to take them back to the streetcar terminal. Instead, a crush of people gathered in front of the pavilion, pressed against the rail.

Harry waved them over as they approached. “I thought you weren’t going to make it.”

“Were you at the tent meeting?” Trip asked.

“Of course. I just snuck out early.” He patted the railing and winked at Marguerite. “Wanted to save our girl a good spot.”

Trip shot his friend a glare, and Marguerite giggled. He pressed his hand to her back, urging her to the rail. When Lilly didn’t follow, he motioned her forward as well.

“There she is!” Harry pointed to a tower set beyond the docks in the lake.

Marguerite couldn’t believe her eyes. “Is that a woman climbing that ladder?”

“Not just any woman,” Trip said. “That’s Miss Fish-baugh.”

He said the name with a sense of awe in his voice, and Marguerite leaned over the railing. “But that tower’s at least two stories high.”

“It’s thirty feet, but who’s counting?” Harry chuckled.

Miss Fishbaugh reached the diving platform, and Trip leaned close to Marguerite’s ear. “Now watch.”

The female diver lifted a metal can and doused her bathing suit with liquid. She then attached a large, cone-shaped collar around her neck. Marguerite tipped her head toward Trip. “What did she pour on herself?”

“Gasoline.”

“Why on earth did she do a fool thing like that?” Lilly asked.

Before anyone could answer, Miss Fishbaugh struck a match and her suit burst into flames. Marguerite gasped along with the hundreds gathered to watch the spectacle. A few women in the crowd screeched. Then, like a bird, Miss Fishbaugh dove into Lake Manawa. She surfaced a moment later and pulled herself onto the dock. She waved at the crowds and the people cheered.

“That’s amazing!” Marguerite pressed her hand to her chest, attempting to quell her racing heart.

“I knew you’d like it.” Trip offered Marguerite his arm. “What did you think, Miss Lilly?”

“I think you’d better be careful giving Miss Marguerite any ideas.”

Trip laughed. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

The foursome headed down the boardwalk. Harry paired up with Lilly in polite conversation, allowing Trip and Marguerite to dally behind alone.

“How does she keep from catching afire?” Marguerite touched the back of her upswept hair.

“Her suit is made of asbestos. It’s a fabric that doesn’t burn. I think that collar protects her hair. But I can’t imagine what possesses her to do something so dangerous.”

“I can.”

He shook his head. “That doesn’t surprise me.”

The teasing lilt in his voice made her smile. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to do that, but I understand wanting to try the impossible.”

Trip glanced at the night sky. “To reach for the stars?”

“Yes. Or at least enjoy trying.”

“Marguerite, I need to ask you something.” Levity now gone, his voice dropped lower.

“All right.”

“That man who came for you the night you fell in the lake and took you to the dance . . .”

“Roger Gordon.”

“I haven’t seen him around.”

“He’s been out of town recently.”

He stopped on the path and waited until she turned toward him. “What does he mean to you?”

Trip’s face, awash in dusk’s pale light, showed tiny worry lines around his eyes and, if she had to guess, a spark of jealousy. She smiled. “He means less to me than he thinks he does.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Roger is my mother’s answer to my lack of marital bliss.”

His scowl deepened. “You’re going to marry him?”

“Heavens no! But if my mother had her way, I would.” She squeezed his arm with her gloved hand. “Trip, you have nothing to worry about. Let me put it this way. You’re like the dive tower, and Roger is like a beach chair. Who do you think I’d choose?”

He raised an eyebrow and his dimples cratered his cheeks. “So you’re willing to take a chance on me?”

“Maybe.” She eyed him with a smirk. “Since you have a sailboat and all.”