Free Making Waves by Lorna Seilstad Page A

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