Lilac Spring (5 page)

He loved boats. He could hold on to that one fact. He loved the feel of smooth wood emerging from the sanding, knowing it was something tangible, something he could force and shape and tame. He loved the look of a rift-sawn timber with its straight grain, knowing its superior strength, its unlikeliness to cup or warp in the water. He loved the smell of cedar and oak and pine that permeated the boat shop even up to his room, the only home he’d known for the past fourteen years.

He loved the challenge of taking straight, strong, unbending logs and cutting and shaping them into a buoyant craft. He loved the triumph of seeing that craft ply through the waters, daring that depthless expanse of waves, defying nature itself when it brought even the wind to do its bidding through that mathematical precision of setting sails at a certain angle to move forward.

He loved the challenge, the speed, the feel of that maiden, the sailing vessel.

But loving a woman—a real, flesh-and-blood woman? Silas sat up, his elbows on his knees, his chin on his fists, too uncomfortable with the question to lie still. Again he felt unable to respond, as if he were untaught or immature in this aspect of the organ called the heart. It seemed to him it had stopped developing when he was twelve and had left home.

He still remembered waving goodbye as his boat pulled away from the harbor. Little Emma, come to see him off, holding his mother’s hand. His mother, still looking lost, as she had since she’d received the news that his father wasn’t coming back from his fishing expedition. And his older sister with her harsh, Nordic looks prematurely middle-aged although she was only in her twenties, since she’d had to take over the running of the household.

Silas had been one of the last of the siblings to leave home. Almost all the others, older, had already found employment elsewhere.

So Silas had arrived at Winslow’s Shipyard and his heart had given itself over to boats. He’d lived among men and boats ever since. The only women he’d had contact with had been Cherish’s mother, a kindly, beautiful woman, and the plainer, more acerbic Mrs. Sullivan. With both, their conversation had been limited to
Wash your hands, Silas. Wash your face. Don’t forget to scrub behind your ears. Clean your plate, Silas. Get your elbows off the table.

And then there had been Winslow’s cherished daughter, radiant and outgoing and sensitive to his every mood.

He didn’t know how to cope with these strange new feelings she was stirring in him. He felt stunted like a gnarled apple tree, beaten down by the salt-laden winter winds, standing squat and twisted beside the tall, majestic firs surrounding it.

Cherish talked about that high-flown sentiment called “love.” Was Silas’s heart even capable of housing such a noble-sounding emotion?

Tonight was the night she would find herself once again in Silas’s arms.

He might not realize what a wonder true love was, but Cher
ish Winslow was going to show him. She’d make herself irresistible to him.

After taking a sponge bath, careful not to touch her curls, Cherish donned clean underclothes, stockings, corset, coiled wire bustle and petticoats. Then she turned to her wardrobe.

Her dress already hung on the door, pressed that morning. Every ruffle stood up, every pleat lay perfectly flat. She lovingly took the pale blue dress off its hanger. An original Worth creation. Cousin Penelope had presented her to Mr. Worth himself in Paris, and he’d designed the gown for her, allowing her to see it modeled on one of the young French mannequins.

She buttoned the tiny row of buttons up her front and smoothed down the formfitting bodice. The upper skirt was formed
en tablier,
like a puffed-up apron draped across the front in loose folds and gathered in the rear to fall gracefully from the bustle. The underskirt was a shade of deeper blue and trimmed in a wide pleated hem.

With a glance of satisfaction in her full-length mirror, Cherish turned her attention to the details of hair and face. She rummaged in her jewelry box and brought out a black velvet choker with its amethyst pendant.

After placing it around her neck, she brushed her hair carefully, curling each ringlet around her fingers. Now she brought them up high on her head and fastened them with a tortoise clasp, and arranged the cascade of curls down her back and around her shoulders. Her amethyst earrings dangled from her ears. She frowned at her reflection, wishing she could use rouge the way the ladies in France did, but Aunt Phoebe would be liable to make a public spectacle of her, sending her upstairs to scrub it off her face. Instead she contented herself with putting a little rice powder on her face and pinching her cheeks to bring out the color. Finally she dabbed a little eau de toilette on her temples and behind her ears.

She stood and gave herself a final inspection in the glass. It was not a ball gown by any means; she knew enough not to wear anything too fancy for Haven’s End. What would Silas think? That was the only thing that really concerned her.

Sending a prayer heavenward, asking the Lord to bless her endeavors, she straightened the articles in her room, then left to see whether her first guests had arrived.

The corridor was crowded with young people. Cherish could feel Annalise’s hand clutch her arm in resistance, but she ignored it and blithely sallied forth into the crowd, greeting her friends and presenting Annalise to everyone she spoke to.

Her eyes scanned the hallway for Silas, but she didn’t see him. Disappointed, she entered the parlor with Annalise. Warren, taller than most of the people present, walked over to them immediately.

“There you are.” He turned his gaze from Cherish to his sister, and she could see the question in his eyes.

“Yes, here we are. I promised Annalise to stay with her until she is better acquainted with my friends.” She didn’t explain to him how reluctant his sister had been to come into the parlor at all. “Would you be so kind as to get us each a glass of punch?”

“Certainly.”

After that, Cherish was swamped with friends stopping to chat with her. The music started up in the opposite parlor and she wished she could loosen Annalise’s hold on her and seek out Silas. She had seen him come in. He had given them a brief greeting and left again, and she hadn’t seen him since. He was probably out on the veranda chatting with the menfolk.

Finally, feeling she was being released from an ordeal, Cherish left Annalise sitting with Aunt Phoebe and one of her friends and headed for the doorway. There Warren accosted her.

“Where’s Annalise?” he asked her.

Biting back a retort, she answered sweetly, “See, there? I left her with Aunt Phoebe and Mrs. Drummond.”

“I wanted to thank you for being so patient with her. She’s—” he hesitated, looking down at the cup in his hand “—very shy.”

Cherish felt her impatience evaporate, and her heart warmed to the man who showed such concern for his sister.

“Yes, I noticed. I think she’ll be all right. Perhaps we can ask one of the young men to dance with her.”

He smiled in enthusiasm. “Yes, that would be grand. Now, how about you? Can I interest you in a dance?”

Cherish swallowed her frustration. Perhaps she should dance with him and get it over with. That way she could reserve a waltz for Silas later. She’d gone over the waltzes with her piano-playing friend Alice, who would play when Jacob and his fiddler friends took a break.

She nodded her acceptance, and the two of them entered the other parlor, where furniture and carpets had been cleared from the center of the room. Cherish allowed Warren to swing her around in the spirited dance amidst the other dancers. One dance led to another. About halfway through the second, she spotted Silas in the doorway. She lifted an arm in greeting and he nodded to her with a smile.

As the music ended, she and Warren moved off the dance floor. “You dance very well,” he told her as he led her toward the doorway. “Let me get you some refreshment before the musicians start up again. I’ll bring Annalise back with me.”

“Yes, do.” Maybe he could dance with his sister.

She turned to Silas with a smile. “Where have you been keeping yourself all evening?”

“Around,” he answered with a lazy grin. His thick hair was swept back from his forehead. Darker sideburns contrasted with the burnished gold of the rest of his hair. His gray eyes were alight with humor. “You are looking quite the fashion plate.”

“I trust that is a compliment.”

He tilted his head in acknowledgment. “Most certainly. Another Paris creation?” he asked with a nod at her gown.

“Yes, monsieur. I’ve been looking for you,” she said after a moment.

“What for? To foist some young lady on me to dance with?”

She laughed, thinking that was precisely what she intended. “Why aren’t you dancing, anyway?”

“I told you, I’m not much of a dancer.”

“You never will be if you don’t practice.”

At that moment Warren returned with Annalise.

“Silas, you remember Warren Townsend and his sister, Annalise.”

“Yes, of course. Pleased to see you both again,” he said, giving Warren his hand and smiling kindly at Annalise.

“It’s good to see you, too,” Warren replied.

They exchanged pleasantries as Cherish sipped the cold fruit punch. She heard the first notes of the piano and looked for a place to set down her cup.

Her arm, stretched toward a low table, stopped, paralyzed, when she heard Warren’s low, friendly tone behind her. “Would you mind escorting Annalise onto the dance floor? I’d like to dance with Cherish and don’t want to leave my sister unescorted. Although she’ll deny it, she’s a wonderful dancer.”

“Uh, of course,” Silas said after a second’s hesitation. “Miss Townsend? Would you care to dance this waltz with me?”

Cherish turned, seeing the look of fright on Annalise’s face. For a moment she felt relief, certain Annalise would turn Silas down.

But her brother pushed her gently toward Silas, urging, “Please say yes. Otherwise everyone will think Silas was turned down by the prettiest girl in the room.”

Annalise’s eyes widened in concern. Silas stood by, saying nothing. The girl hesitated between the two men.

Finally Silas held out his arm, smiling encouragement. “They’ll understand once they see me waltz.”

Annalise returned his smile and put her hand on his arm.

Everything faded out for Cherish—the sounds of the waltz, the babble of voices around her—as she watched Silas, arm in arm with Annalise, walk toward the dance floor. The distance between him and Cherish increased with each step, making it a reality she could do nothing to alter.

As if coming back to the present, she heard Warren’s voice. “So, may I have the honor of this dance?”

She licked her lips, tempted to give him the set-down of his life.
How dare he? He and his stupid little sister with her shy, childish ways!
Cherish swallowed the words that roiled through her
mind, knowing how unfair they were, but unable to stop from feeling hurt and humiliated even as she nodded her assent.

She followed the dance steps like an automaton while her heart ached with the feeling of betrayal. The warm smile she thought reserved for her, the encouraging words she’d always received from Silas, the gentle teasing were not for her alone. They were for any young lady that came along.

Obviously, he’d felt sympathy for Annalise. Was that all Silas felt for Cherish, as well?

He’d always been her big brother, pal, confidant…hero. But now she wanted something more from Silas.

As the strains of the waltz played on, Cherish refused to believe her years of waiting for Silas had been in vain. There was no other man for her. Didn’t Silas see that?

S
ilas held Annalise gingerly. Heaven knew, he wasn’t used to dancing the waltz, and his partner looked as if she was ready to expire at any moment. He glanced helplessly across the room, but relief was not forthcoming.

Cherish was in Townsend’s arms, smiling up at something he was saying as they moved in time to the music. They both looked as if they belonged in a ballroom in Boston rather than in a front parlor in Haven’s End.

He turned back to Miss Townsend as the two moved awkwardly among the circling dancers. “Smile, or everyone’ll think I’m stepping on your feet.”

The look of fright in the girl’s large green eyes gave way to a slight relaxing of her facial features.

“That’s better. Even if you can’t manage a smile, at least it doesn’t look as if you’re being tortured.”

A tiny, tentative smile appeared on her pink lips.

“Getting better and better. I admit I’m not much of a dancer, but I don’t want to pass myself off as a worse clodhopper than I already know myself to be. I was convinced I couldn’t waltz, but I have it on the best authority that it’s as easy as counting
one, two, three. Of course, having left school young, I don’t know as I’m too capable in that area either.”

Her smile grew, and he took a deep breath of relief. He couldn’t abide the thought that the girl was here by force, only to please her brother. “Thatta girl.”

Silas kept up a flow of conversation as they danced. It occurred to him he was chattering. It reminded him of the day Cherish had been waltzing with him in the meadow. He wondered now whether she had been as nervous as he felt right now.

No—he dismissed the notion as soon as it was formed. Cherish was the most poised girl he knew. He glanced at her again across the dancers, remembering her as a little lady even at the age of five when she’d come to make his acquaintance on his first day at the boat shop.

“—so many years.”

He glanced back at Miss Townsend. “Excuse me?”

“I said you’ve been in Haven’s End so many years.”

“That’s right. I always knew I wanted to build boats, so I was glad to find a place to apprentice.”

His gaze roved over Cherish and Townsend once again.

She certainly seemed to be at ease, speaking with Warren as they glided across the dance floor, and it seemed to Silas that she was as graceful in a meadow as in a ballroom.

He, himself, was finding it hard to keep up a flow of conversation and at the same time mind the placement of his feet. Deciding to concentrate on his steps, he stopped talking.

When the song ended and another started up, he wished for a moment that it was Cherish in his arms on the dance floor. But after that brief tuneless waltz in the meadow, he had resolved to avoid dancing with her. Holding her in his arms, however innocently, put too many crazy thoughts into his head.

Cherish awoke the next morning late. Turning from the window, its shade unsuccessfully hiding the beautiful spring day and sound of birdsong, she burrowed farther into her pillow.

How she wished she could stay out of sight all day.

She groaned, remembering her unwanted guests. Like her Worth creation, which now lay in a crumpled heap on the floor in her line of vision, they intruded where they were not wanted. Warren and Annalise Townsend were still under her roof, and she was their hostess.

She stared at the wallpaper before her, reliving the fiasco of last night.
Oh, Lord, why do I have to go down and pretend everything is all right? They ruined everything last night. It was my party and I had everything planned. I’ve waited so long for Silas. All I wanted was to dance with him!

Her lips trembled and her eyes welled up with tears, the way they had all night as she’d tossed and turned.

It was almost as if Silas had deliberately avoided her. She’d never seen him so elusive. If he wasn’t talking in such a chummy manner to little miss whey-faced Townsend, he was nowhere to be seen. She couldn’t understand it.

She’d had to swallow her anger and disappointment and pretend everything was just fine. When they’d finished eating and gone back inside as another waltz started up, she’d turned to him and there he was, taking Annalise out onto the dance floor again, as if they were the best of friends.

After that she’d seen Annalise dancing with another man—a friend of Silas’s—and Silas vanished. She’d had to exercise every ounce of self-control to keep smiling and chatting with Warren and later with Annalise when she’d wanted nothing better than to tell her to stay away from Silas.

She swiped at her eyes now. It would do no good to go getting them all swollen. Then everyone would know she’d been crying. She wouldn’t give Silas the satisfaction!

She had guests to see to. Thankfully, they were leaving this morning. Cherish threw off the bedclothes, resolved to brave the day. First a repair job on her face, she decided, peering at the red-rimmed eyes in the mirror. Then to play the charming hostess to the Townsends as she’d promised her father. Then, finally, down to the boat shop to comfort Silas and discover why he couldn’t have spared one dance for her!

In the afternoon Silas headed up to the shop after spending the morning working in the stocks scarfing together lengths of wood. They had been cut and shaped to fit together like puzzle pieces, forming the vertical ribs of the schooner’s hull.

He hadn’t been up to the house for dinner, but had brought a lunch pail down with him.

Now he welcomed a break from the tiring work in the sun. Try as he would to deny it, he also looked forward to seeing Cherish again. Why, when he’d managed to live without her for months, even years on end, did his eyes now long for a glimpse of her daily, his soul for some moments of communion? These were questions he chose to ignore for the moment as he pushed open the back door to the boat shop.

He spied Cherish down on her knees before a large board.

“Hi, there. At work already?” he asked in a friendly voice. In her simple cotton dress and pinafore apron she appeared so different from last night, yet just as captivating.

She did not look up at him, but continued drawing a straight line down from top to bottom of the board. “Yes.”

Feeling slightly put out that she’d started without him, he squatted down beside her. “Sorry I couldn’t get here sooner. I had to finish framing a section of the hull.”

She finished the line. “That’s quite all right. Excuse me.” She indicated she wanted him to move and he complied, wondering why she was behaving as if he’d done something wrong.

“Sure. Need some help?”

She finally sat back on her heels and addressed him directly. “I’m marking out a grid on this board. I’ve figured out the scale of the half-hull model measurements, which I’ve plotted on this chart. See, ‘two inches equals one foot, zero inches.’ So we’ll divide the board into a grid of one-foot spaces. Here, you can do the next one.”

He took the yardstick and pencil from her and followed her directions. In the meantime, she began measuring out the horizontal lines on the board, explaining how she’d calculated
those spaces. The two of them worked silently, crisscrossing paths every once in a while.

The flowery scent of her hair came under his nostrils when this happened. She seemed completely unaware of him, her focus intent on the pencil and yardstick in her hand. He noticed how slim and attractive her hand looked, splayed against the white board. Its only adornment was a thin silver ring with a small amethyst stone set in a filigreed mount.

“Tired after last night?” he asked.

“A little,” she replied, her back to him.

“It was a nice party,” he offered, hoping to make her feel better if she were upset about something.

“Thank you.”

“Miss Townsend seemed to flounder a bit there, not knowing anyone but you.”

“Thank goodness you were there to rescue her.”

He eyed her back. Did he detect a trace of sarcasm? What had he done? “She’s all right, once you get to know her. We spoke about you,” he said humorously.

That caused her to crane around to look at him. “What about me?” she asked with a frown.

He grinned, hoping to get a rise from her. “Oh, I just told her she’d better follow you around if she wanted to learn how to socialize.”

“What does that mean?” She didn’t sound pleased.

“Just that. You know how to talk to people, dance, put on the charm—”

“Is
that
what you think I do?”

He cleared his throat, wondering why she was so touchy. “Anyway, she was a bit shy, and I thought you could help her.”

“Is that so?” She drew another line across the wood. “What else did you talk about?”

“She admires you. Maybe you could befriend her, you know, take her under your wing. She seems to be in mortal fear of strangers. I felt kind of sorry for her last night. I told Charlie he’d better dance with her and treat her nicely if he wanted me to help him with his next boat.”

Cherish turned his way and began to measure the next line. “I thought I treated her rather graciously last night. What more do you want me to do—bring her along to the boat shop?”

Now he was certain she was upset about something. She never brought her girlfriends to the shop. “No-o, but you could, oh, you know, have her over, be her friend, talk about whatever it is girls talk about when they’re together.”

She didn’t reply, but continued working.

He drew another line. “What’s up?”

She glanced at him. “What do you mean?”

“I know when something’s bothering you.”

“Nothing’s wrong.” She took up the chart and began studying it intently.

“Come on. You can tell ol’ Silas.”

“You’re imagining things.”

“What is it, Cherry?” he asked in a cajoling tone, using his childhood nickname for her.

“Don’t call me that! You know I can’t abide it!”

He thought of something. “Is it Townsend? He stuck by you most of the evening. Did he say anything to offend you?”

“No. He was the perfect gentleman.”

Silas frowned, remembering how good the two had looked dancing together, each one so elegantly attired. “Your father seems to think highly of him.”

“Perhaps justly so.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” he answered dryly. Seeing his questions were getting him nowhere, he gave up, telling himself Cherish was just in a mood. He’d heard women got into funny humors, although Cherish had never done so before she’d gone away. Maybe that was something she’d picked up on her travels.

But Cherish wasn’t ready to let the topic end. “I noticed you had no trouble dancing last night,” she said, and again Silas noticed the edge to her tone.

“Well, I couldn’t very well refuse Townsend’s request to dance with his sister.”

“You were very gracious to take her out onto the dance floor so many times. It’s a pity you couldn’t spare one dance for your hostess.”

Silas stared at Cherish. He read hurt in her unblinking gaze, and he finally understood. She had wanted him to dance with her.

He swallowed hard and turned away. How could he tell her he had deliberately avoided holding her in his arms?

He cleared his throat, his fingers fiddling with his pencil. She deserved an explanation, but he didn’t think she’d accept the only one he had.

“You were pretty busy on the dance floor all evening. I didn’t think you needed me to fill up your dance card.”

She turned away from him and resumed her work. He couldn’t tell whether she’d accepted his explanation or not.

“You’re right, Silas. I didn’t
need
you as a partner. I would have
liked
you as a partner.”

He had no reply to that. How much he would have liked her as a partner he knew only too well. And the less she knew of it, the better.

On the night of choir practice Cherish put on her hat and grabbed up her shawl to walk to the church. As she walked out the door after supper, she saw Silas walking up the front walk.

“You ready to go?” he asked her.

“You didn’t have to come all the way here to fetch me.” She had deliberately not reminded him of choir practice when they’d worked together in the boat shop earlier in the day.

He looked unbearably handsome, his dark golden hair brushed back from his forehead, his skin bronze against the collar of his white shirt. He wore no jacket, only a vest.

“Of course I was going to fetch you. Come on.” Not waiting for her reply, he turned back on the path.

They were quiet on the walk there. Halfway to the church they were joined by another couple going in the same direction.

“Evenin’, Cherish, Silas,” said the man, the woman beside him nodding with a smile.

“Evening, Billy,” Silas replied. “Going to choir practice?”

“Yep. Fine evening, ain’t it?”

“Sure is.”

“When you gonna launch that schooner?” Billy asked, indicating the ship in the stocks as they passed the boatyard.

“By summer’s end, we expect, or early in the autumn.”

“Don’t see any more keels being laid. Don’t you have any new orders for the summer?”

“We’re working on some dories in the workshop right now. Charles Whitcomb may commission a sloop.”

The man nodded. “Not like the old days when the yard was littered with hulls.”

The two men continued chatting as they neared the white clapboard church.

During the practice, Cherish stood with the women. The pastor wasn’t present—only his wife, Carrie, who played the piano. Another gentleman from the congregation directed them.

“Let’s turn to hymn number eighty,” he told them. They sang a rousing “All Hail the Power of Jesus’ Name” about half a dozen times before the man was satisfied.

By the time they left, Cherish thought the words to the hymns would be revolving in her head all evening. Several people walked along with her and Silas as they turned homeward.

“You don’t have to go with me. I’ll walk along with this group until I reach home,” she told him.

“I agreed to accompany you there and back, and that’s what I’m going to do,” he insisted.

She sighed. How nice it would have been if he’d said he would walk with her because he
wanted
to and not because he felt obliged to. Hugging the shawl around her, she contemplated the night sky, which was just turning a deep blue, its edges still pale and edged by a wash of orange where the sun had set.