“Which was sheer luck on my part, and I may not get that lucky again.”
“But Rat likes to stretch his legs.”
“Then perhaps we’ll need to consider building him a larger cage. But, darling, taking a guinea pig to the beach isn’t taking good care of your pet. He could get too close to the ocean and get swept out to sea. You wouldn’t care for that to happen to him, would you?”
“No, but . . .” Samuel stepped closer to Gwendolyn. “Would you really help me make him a new cage?”
“I’m not overly competent with tools, but if we can convince Oscar to assist us, as well as a few of the footmen, we’ll be able to build a house Rat will adore.”
“He’ll like that, so I’ll leave him behind.”
“An excellent choice.”
After gathering up what they were taking to the beach, they made a brief stop in the servants’ dining room to tell Miss Wendell and Miss Putman, who were taking their morning coffee break, they could take the rest of the morning off. Their next stop was the kitchen, where they discovered that Mrs. Boyle had already prepared them a picnic lunch.
After thanking Mrs. Boyle for their lunch, Oscar insisted on carrying the picnic basket, which suggested he was in possession of stellar manners when he set his mind to it. A groom was then only too happy to harness Bert to Oscar’s pony cart, and once he was done, Gwendolyn handed the reins to Oscar, who led the pony out of the stables.
The twins grumbled a little when she wouldn’t let them ride down to the beach, but after explaining she needed to get a feel for Bert’s behavior before she’d be comfortable allowing them to ride in the cart, they abandoned their grumbling and took to chasing after the rabbits Gwendolyn pointed out to them.
With the clouds and rain having disappeared, it was a glorious day in Newport. Winding their way down a dirt path that led to a sliver of beach directly behind Sea Haven, they spent their first hour building an entire town of sandcastles, it taking all of five minutes for Samuel and Priscilla to stomp that city into smithereens. The sound of their giggles warmed Gwendolyn far more than the sun streaming over them.
After abandoning the sandcastle building to search for shells, they filled an entire pail before they decided to take a break and enjoy the lunch Mrs. Boyle had provided.
As they finished pieces of chocolate cake dripping with icing, Gwendolyn turned to Oscar. “Ready to tackle some fishing?”
Oscar tilted his head. “Do you really know how to fish?”
“Ah, skepticism at its finest.” She tapped a finger against her chin. “I suppose there’s nothing left to do now but prove to you I know my way around a fishing pole. Would you care to make a game of it—the winner, of course, being the one who lands the most fish?”
“You aren’t going to burst into tears when I catch more fish, are you?”
She waved that aside. “Please. Tears have no business showing up in a fishing competition.”
“Good. Then yes, I’ll take up your challenge, but be prepared to lose.”
After exchanging grins, Gwendolyn nodded to Priscilla and Samuel, who both had faces smeared with chocolate. “Would the two of you like to fish with us?”
Priscilla shook her head. “Girls don’t fish.”
“Where did you hear that?”
“One of my old governesses. She told me girls shouldn’t like worms.”
Gwendolyn pulled out a handkerchief and began wiping icing from Priscilla’s face. “Even though there’s an excellent chance that particular governess was merely trying to avoid taking you fishing, what you need to understand is this: You’re going to be told throughout your life that girls shouldn’t do many things. It’ll be up to you to decide whether that’s true or not. I’ve been fishing since I was a child. I bait my own hook, and while worms can be slimy, simply being a girl does not mean you’re predisposed to squeamishness where worms are concerned.
“With that said, I’m going to encourage you to explore activities throughout your life in whatever way you see fit. If something interests you, give it a try. You may decide you don’t care for fishing after experiencing it, but don’t neglect to try it simply because you’ve been told you can’t because you’re a girl.”
She straightened and found that while she’d been cleaning off Priscilla’s face, Samuel had stolen up beside her, worry flickering through his eyes.
He dropped his gaze and began tracing a toe through the sand. “I don’t like to fish. I think it’s mean because the hooks hurt the fish.”
Her heart gave another lurch, something it had been doing often during the time she’d spent with the children. She took hold of Samuel’s hand. “There’s nothing wrong with not liking to fish.”
“Boys are supposed to like fishing.”
“My brother Duncan doesn’t care to fish for exactly the same reason you don’t.”
“Does he get teased for not liking to fish?”
“Not at all. In fact, he loves animals so much he’s currently pursuing what’s known as a veterinary degree from Iowa State University.”
“What’s a veter . . . nary degree?”
“It’s a degree a person gets from a university that will allow them to become a doctor to animals, something I imagine you may want to consider when you’re older.”
“Sam would make a good animal doctor,” Oscar said, lugging a pail filled with dirt and worms from the pony cart and sidestepping Bert, who was stretched out in the sand, taking a snooze. “And you only need to tell me, Sam, if anyone teases you. I’ll put an end to that.”
He nodded to Gwendolyn. “Ready?”
She rolled up her sleeves. “Let the fishing challenge begin.”
With Priscilla and Samuel looking on, although Samuel turned his head while Gwendolyn and Oscar baited their hooks, Gwendolyn walked to where the surf was lapping the shore, casting her line into the ocean as Oscar did the same.
Five minutes was all it took for her to feel a tug on her pole, but as she began reeling in her line, her fish made a great escape, leaving her with nothing but an empty hook to show for her efforts.
Oscar sent her a grin, one that held not a shred of sympathy in it, right before his pole began to bow and he was pulled a few feet into the surf.
“I caught a big one,” he yelled, struggling to keep a grip on the rod as he worked to reel in whatever he’d caught.
Abandoning her pole as Priscilla and Sam came scampering to join them, Gwendolyn grabbed the back of Oscar’s shirt when he was pulled another foot into the ocean, knowing better than to offer to help him reel because, if she’d learned anything about Oscar thus far, it was that he was a capable boy and certainly wouldn’t appreciate assistance, not when they were engaged in a friendly fishing competition.
“It’s got to be at least thirty pounds,” Oscar yelled, as he struggled to pull what did seem to be a massive fish to shore.
A second later, the fish flipped out of the water, but it disappeared beneath the surface before Gwendolyn could ascertain what type of fish it was. Tightening her grip on the back of Oscar’s shirt when he was pulled forward another foot, which left them knee-deep in water, Gwendolyn suddenly caught sight of a large shadow from the corner of her eye. Squinting, her heart skipped a beat when she realized what was lurking beneath the surface—and lurking far too close for comfort.