Lilac Spring (22 page)

“Fifteen hundred dollars? How, Papa, how?”

“A friend has given me twelve hundred, and your aunt Phoebe put in her nest egg of three hundred.”

Cherish could feel the tears welling in her eyes. Dear Aunt Phoebe. She had to concentrate to catch the rest of what her father was saying.

“He’s given me all the time I need to repay him. Didn’t even
want
to be repaid, except that I insisted, of course.”

“But who, Papa? Who has that kind of money?”

“No need to trouble yourself about that. Just trust me that it’s all right.” Her father turned to the papers on his desk as if anxious to get on to something else. “We’ll figure out a way to get the final five hundred. We’ll take it from the earnings from the schooner. It’s nearing completion.” He rubbed his chin. “Perhaps I could put a bug into Warren Townsend’s ear. His father sits on the bank board….”

“Oh, Papa, no!” She’d die of shame to think they were begging favors of him. And she’d feel under further obligation.

“Don’t worry, my dear. I know how to do it. You needn’t fret.”

Cherish left her father’s presence in a daze. The sudden lifting of her heaviest burden left her thoroughly confused. Who could have given her father such a sum? She had never beheld such a vast quantity of money. It was true her father had many friends and many who admired him in the business community. They had all been to see him since he’d suffered his collapse. Could he have spoken of his troubles to one of them?

Cherish still found it hard to accept. If her father hadn’t told her until forced to, what would compel him to confide in someone else? Could it have been to ease her mind? She conceded that most likely that was the motive.

She went up to her room, knelt by her bed and thanked God for the reprieve. It was true that the debt still remained, no matter what her father had said about the mysterious benefactor giving them all the time needed to repay it. It was true they were still five hundred dollars short. But for the moment, all Cherish could feel was relief and gratitude.

Most of all, she felt an overwhelming lifting of a burden. She would be able to turn Warren down in good conscience.

Warren Townsend sat across the desk from his father.

“You’ve been going over to Haven’s End quite a bit recently. Still interested in the Winslow girl?”

He reddened, not liking the direct way his father put it. “I’ve been by to see her father.”

“How’s he doing?”

“He’s on the mend. The doctor warns him he can’t put any stress on his heart.”

“His days of running the shipyard are over.”

“I don’t know. His daughter has been managing quite capably in the interim.”

The older Townsend snorted. “I’m sure she won’t be able to weather things in a few days.”

“Why is that?” He didn’t like it when his father got that knowing tone.

“Winslow’s Shipyard owes quite a tidy sum to Hatsfield Bank. The note comes due tomorrow.”

“How did you find that out?” he asked to hide his shock, although he shouldn’t have been surprised. His father made it his business to find out what went on at the bank.

“I don’t sit on their board of directors for nothing.” He eased back in his chair and crossed the legs of his pressed trousers. “The timing couldn’t be better. I’ve had my eye on that shipyard for some time. Now that we’ve acquired the sawmill, and we have the emporium going, what’s more natural than to supply our companies with their own fleet of schooners?”

“Is that why you encouraged my friendship with Miss Winslow?” Warren asked, although again he knew the answer before it came.

His father shrugged, looking at the ends of his buffed nails. “She’s a pretty gal, smart by the sounds of it. Winslow’s given her every advantage. Do you fancy her?”

Warren felt uncomfortable under his father’s direct scrutiny. Did he fancy Cherish? He admired her, respected her, thought her the prettiest, most ladylike young woman in the area. “I’ve asked her to marry me.”

His father nodded. “She’ll soon be a pauper, but you’ll have more than enough for the both of you. Make her a more amenable wife, I’d say. At any rate, I give you my blessing.”

Warren didn’t tell him she hadn’t given him an answer yet. “How much does Winslow owe the bank?”

“Something to the tune of two thousand dollars.”

Warren couldn’t help whistling softly. That was a lot of money for the small businesses around here. Even Warren didn’t have that kind of money. His father kept him on a short rein.

“And you say it’s due tomorrow? Do you think he’ll be able to pay it?”

“I hardly think he’ll come up with the sum. He’s been abed practically a month.” His father waved his hand dismissively. “Winslow has overextended, and now it’s time to pay the piper. That’s all there is to it.”

Warren was thinking fast, but knew he couldn’t get his hands on that kind of money so quickly. All he knew was that he felt a compelling desire to offer Cherish a way out. He didn’t want her forced to accept his proposal.

The more he saw of business, the less he liked it. It seemed everything depended on finding a competitor’s weakness and exploiting it.

“I want you to go over to Haven’s End—that should be no hardship to you,” his father added with a chuckle. “Keep close to the situation. It’s to your advantage.”

Warren felt sick. He liked Cherish, but he didn’t want her that way. Even though he should be relieved to have his father’s blessing, instead he felt repulsed.

Somewhere he had a yearning for a kind of love that swept a person off his feet. A love that faced every kind of challenge and triumphed. He didn’t feel this kind of love, nor did he think he inspired it in Cherish. All he felt was a desire to do what little he could to help her out of her predicament.

S
ilas had a day off from the cannery on the Fourth of July. The whole village was closed, and everyone turned out for the festivities.

But he was in no mood to celebrate as he sailed to Hatsfield, preparing to meet Annalise. Warren had arranged everything, knowing his parents were busy with official functions.

Now he stood, hat in hand, in the Townsend parlor, where Warren had left him with Annalise for a few moments. The house was dim and quiet, in contrast to the bright hot sun outside.

“Hello, Annalise. I haven’t seen you in a while,” he began.

“Hello, Silas. Won’t you have a seat?” She indicated a chair beside the settee where she was seated with her hands folded primly in her lap.

He sat down with his hat in his lap. What now? What was he supposed to say to make things all right? Annalise was a lovely person. He could see the shy expectancy in her eyes before she fixed her attention on her clasped hands.

“Have you been busy working?”

“Yes, yes, I have,” he answered rapidly, then stopped. No, he
would be honest. “Annalise, the reason I stopped by today was to tell you goodbye.”

Her eyes flashed up at him quickly before looking down again. “Goodbye?”

He cleared his throat. “Yes. You see, I’m going away soon. I don’t know exactly when. It depends on Mr. Winslow, when he’s feeling fully recuperated. Then I intend to head farther north or south and look for work in another—bigger—shipyard.”

“Why can’t you continue working where you are?”

Her eyes, magnified by the spectacles, were very direct.

He was the one to shift his gaze this time. He concentrated on the band of his hat. “Shipbuilding is dying in this area. I thought about looking down around Rockland, even Portland, where I hear a lot of ships are still being built.”

“Oh, I see. You wouldn’t consider any other sort of work?”

“No.” He thought of his present work at the cannery. “That is, I hope I can find something in shipbuilding. You see, it’s what I do best. Work with my hands. I don’t think I’m much good for anything else.”

“I’m sure there are lots of things you are good at.”

He smiled slightly. “Thank you.” Suddenly he wished he did love her and that he wouldn’t hurt her too much with his words or with his goodbye. “Annalise.”

“Yes?” She blinked, the hopeful look returning.

“Some day you’ll meet some fine gentleman worthy of you—someone who’s well educated like you and can offer you the kind of home you deserve.” The wild thought occurred to him that he could just as well be making the same speech to Cherish. In her case, that “someone” was already in the picture—Warren Townsend.

Annalise was shaking her head at his words.

“You will, you’ll see. Your family is well connected. You’ll probably end up traveling quite a bit the way your brother has, or Cher—Miss Winslow.” He was searching desperately for words of encouragement. Her muteness alarmed him. Even more did the silent tears that began filling her large eyes.

He swallowed, feeling like the lowest scoundrel. “Please don’t cry. I’m certainly not worth it.”

She sniffed. He could see her fingernails white as she clutched her hands together.

“Please, Annalise, don’t cry,” he repeated. “Do you want me to get your brother?”

She shook her head. “Please go,” she whispered, turning her head away and wiping at the wet trail down her cheek.

He finally stood, his hat still in his hand, seeing his words only made things worse.

With sadness and self-contempt, but no regret at the decision he had taken, he left the room. Once he was outside, Warren came to him. “Well?” he asked.

“You probably ought to go to her,” Silas answered quietly. “I’ll see myself out.”

Warren hesitated. “You told her?”

“I told her goodbye.”

“You’re making a mistake, van der Zee. A big mistake.”

At the front door Townsend said to him, “If you see Miss Winslow today, please send her my best regards. Tell her I’m sorry to miss the festivities over at Haven’s End, but duty calls here at Hatsfield. There are a lot of official functions my father and I must preside over.” He hesitated once again. “Please tell her I’ll be by to see her tomorrow.”

For a man who had courted no women since his childhood sweetheart had died, Silas had just lost two women vastly superior to himself in just the first half of summer.

He shoved the hat onto his head as he walked down the flagstone path. He was doing the right thing, he told himself, feeling at the moment as if he didn’t have a clue what that was.

Cherish had walked down to the village on the morning of the Fourth to watch the parade. She’d anticipated the day, hoping things would appear a bit like old times—she and Silas and their childhood friends having a good time together.

She had looked for him, but in vain. She stood now with some girlhood friends, waiting for the parade to begin.

“Oh, look at Captain Phelps and his wife.” Julie nudged her with an elbow.

Cherish turned curious eyes across the street. The crowd parted for a tall, elegant couple walking arm in arm. She knew who Captain Caleb Phelps was from his business at the shipyard, but she had never addressed him personally. She’d been a mere girl, and he an important client who came up from Boston occasionally to oversee his father’s shipping concerns on the down east coast.

Captain Phelps’s bride was another story. Cherish drew in her breath, seeing her. Although the woman, known locally as Geneva, was a few years older than Cherish, Cherish had known her all her life. Now she scarcely recognized her.

“Can you believe that’s ‘Salt Fish Ginny’?” Julie asked with a giggle. Cherish shook her head, her eyes fixed on the dark-haired woman who had lived until recently on her own, dressing like a man and fishing cod.

Now she appeared more elegant than Cherish herself. She walked tall and straight, carrying a frilly parasol. Her dress, a cool-looking cream-and-blue-striped silk, contrasted well with her deep ebony hair. Cherish knew Geneva had been considered an oddity and about as devoid of natural feeling as the rocky coast. Now Cherish looked in amazement as she greeted everyone warmly and was well received in turn.

“Don’t they make a handsome couple?” Lucy on her other side asked.

“Yes,” breathed Cherish, watching how Captain Phelps turned to his bride, patting the hand that was tucked into the crook of his elbow and saying something to her. She responded with a smiling answer. Cherish remembered how she’d scared little Cherish with her dark, scowling looks. “However did they meet?” she asked curiously, finding it hard to imagine such a couple from the Geneva she’d known.

“Oh, it’s the most romantic story,” Julie told her eagerly. “Captain Phelps spent the summer before last out in that beautiful house on the Point that he had built for his bride. She’d jilted him because of some scandal. Well, lo and behold, he and
Geneva ended up falling in love. Can you imagine anything so improbable?”

“She looks nothing like she used to.”

“Because she’s had all kinds of lessons in deportment. Mama told me that old Mrs. Bradford took a liking to her. At the end of the summer, after Captain Phelps left Haven’s End for Boston, Mrs. Bradford invited Geneva to go to Boston with her as her companion. By then Captain Phelps had sailed out to New Orleans. By the time he returned, Geneva had undergone the transformation you see now.”

“They married last year in Boston, I heard,” Lucy added. “They’ve just come up to spend the summer out on Ferguson Point.”

“It sounds very romantic,” Cherish said, still viewing the couple.

“You needn’t feel any envy,” Julie said with a laugh. “Your Mr. Townsend is certainly a handsome fellow, and his father, if not as wealthy as Captain Phelps, is the richest one around here.”

Cherish looked at her friend. Were they already pairing her off with Warren? And was that how they viewed him—as a good match because of his looks and family wealth? Wasn’t that how her father viewed him? Was that how she viewed him?

What would she think of him if he were not so handsome and didn’t have a penny to his name? Would she have looked twice at him?

Her gaze scanned the crowd once more, but the golden hair she sought was nowhere to be seen.

As if reading her mind, Lucy said, “I wouldn’t mind a dance or two with your father’s apprentice. I think he’s even more handsome than your Mr. Townsend.”

Cherish glanced at her sharply. “Who, Silas? He’s no longer an apprentice. He’s a shipwright.”

“All the better,” her friend answered calmly, ignoring her tone. “Maybe I can convince Papa to have a boat built. Then I could hang around the boat shop like you!”

“Silas is no longer working with us,” she said quietly.

“Why not?”

“He’s going to work at a larger shipyard.”

“Oh, what a shame.”

“I thought I saw him leave the cannery the other day!” Julie exclaimed. “I could scarcely credit it.”

“Oh, he’s just working there temporarily,” Cherish hastened to explain. “He’s helping Papa out in the evenings until Papa is able to take over things in the shipyard once again. That—that time is fast approaching.”

The conversation turned to her father, then the parade started and they were distracted by the sound of trumpets, horns and drums. Cherish watched, remembering her excitement as a girl whenever the parade marched by on the Fourth.

The two young men who were walking out with Julie and Lucy came by to stand with them during the parade. Watching them, Cherish wondered what her future would be like in Haven’s End. She knew despite the sudden appearance of the fifteen hundred dollars, it was only a temporary reprieve. The bank had granted a two-week extension for them to come up with the final five hundred dollars. And what then? She and her father would still have to repay their benefactor, which in turn would reduce the profits from the schooner. Would they even be able to keep the boat shop open during the winter months?

Would Cherish have to seek employment? She had heard that one of the village schools was in need of a teacher. She could offer her services. Would she and her father be forced to live in reduced circumstances and would she become an old-maid schoolteacher? From her pinnacle atop Haven’s End society, would she now be relegated to the fringes at its base?

After the parade, Cherish walked with the two couples to watch them join in the games—the three-legged race, the egg-and-spoon race, the burlap sack race. She joined them in horseshoes. All the while her eyes roamed the area looking for the only person who would make her feel at home again in her native village.

She might as well be back in Europe for all she saw of him.

She went home to have dinner with her father, and in the afternoon they hitched up the buggy to go back to the harbor to watch the annual boat race. Any kind of craft was eligible to race—both working boat and pleasure craft.

She was certain she would see Silas at the races. He had always represented Winslow’s Shipyard, and for the past five years had taken first prize. This year she knew he would be racing his own yawl.

But there was no sign of Silas. She couldn’t understand where he could be. To her knowledge he had never missed a Fourth.

She watched the beautiful yacht owned by Captain Phelps. She knew Silas had been the principal builder and designer on it last summer. It beat all the other boats by a healthy length.

She clapped vigorously when it sailed past the finish line, feeling joy that in a sense the victory was one for Silas. It was his craft that had won, even if it hadn’t been the one registered in his name.

By the time Silas sailed back to Haven’s End the sky had darkened and the fireworks were in full swing over the harbor. Silas secured his line to its mooring and rowed to the wharf. It was crowded with people “oohing and aahing” over the bright display in the black sky overhead.

He answered a few greetings as he passed them by, his eyes scanning the faces for Cherish. With a scant glance at the brilliant red, white and blue lights above, Silas turned his back on the crowd and walked up the road leading out of town.

He could have crossed the harbor to the parsonage in the skiff, but he walked the longer way, past Cherish’s house. He’d fought so hard to stay away from her, but that night his legs drew him in her direction.

When he reached her house, it was dark except for a dim light visible through the front door. He stood for a moment at her gate. What had she done to him since she’d come back?

She’d twisted him around so much he no longer knew what was up or down, right or wrong.

He entered the gate and began walking up the path to the veranda, not knowing what he was about. Clearly everyone was abed. It was late and he should be headed to his own bed. Tomorrow was another workday.

He stood at the foot of the steps leading up the porch, staring upward. Before he could will himself to turn back, he heard her voice.

“Silas?” It was soft, questioning. It was too late for him to back out now.

“I didn’t see you at the fireworks,” he answered. He could barely make her out at the far end of the veranda, on the swing. He could hear its creak as she set it in motion.

“I didn’t go. I watched them from here.” Her tone was matter-of-fact.

“Is your father all right?”

“Yes.”

Silas hesitated, torn between going and staying. He finally compromised by sitting on the steps, not trusting himself to take a seat beside her on the swing. He truly didn’t know what her proximity would do to him this evening.

“You missed the boat race.”

“I had to go to Hatsfield and couldn’t get back in time” was all he could think to say.

“I thought you wanted to try your boat out this year.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I had to see someone in Hatsfield.”

“Oh.”

Before she could ask him whom he said, “I ran into Warren Townsend. He sends you his best regards.”

“You did?” Her voice brightened. “That was nice of him. What else did he say?”

The question cut through him. He leaned against the balustrade and tried to remember. “He asked me to apologize to you for not being able to attend the festivities here in Haven’s End.
It sounds as if he had a lot of official duties in town with his father.”