Lilac Spring (2 page)

Her eyes gazed up at him now with laughter in their smoky-blue depths.

“What kept you so long?”

He shrugged. “I figured you’d have enough folks wanting to welcome you back to keep you busy all evening.”

She looked around in amusement. “Yes, I suppose I do. It’s wonderful being back home. Come on, let’s go outside. You know everyone, although there are a few acquaintances Papa is expecting from Hatsfield whom he wants me to meet.”

She linked her arm in his and drew him toward the veranda. They were stopped every few moments by guests wishing to talk to Cherish. Everyone wanted to hear about her European tour. Silas admired how deftly she turned the conversation around, asking instead about the local happenings in her absence.

They finally reached the veranda.

“Cherish!” Tom Winslow, a handsome, dark-haired man, hailed his daughter from the drive where he walked alongside a tall young man with a young lady at his side.

Before Silas could disengage himself, Cherish tugged at his arm, pulling him along with her as she descended the porch steps, where the trio reached them.

Her father said, “I want you to meet Mr. Warren Townsend from Hatsfield and his sister, Annalise. They’ve driven all the way over especially to welcome you back.”

Cherish held out her hand first to the sister, a pretty, brown-haired girl, who wore spectacles.

“Pleased, I’m sure,” Cherish said before turning to the young gentleman. He was at least half a head taller than either Silas or her father and wore a well-cut tweed suit. “Mr. Townsend, welcome to our home.”

“Annalise and I have heard so much about you from your father that we wanted to make the acquaintance mutual as soon as you came home.”

Cherish smiled at her father. “Papa has probably exaggerated half the details, but I am grateful for the chance to present myself in person so you may separate fact from fantasy.” She turned to Silas, including him in the group. “This is Silas van der Zee, Papa’s most gifted shipwright.” After shaking hands all around, Silas was content to let Cherish do the talking.

He marveled to see how the year of finishing school had “finished” her, and the year on the Continent had given her an unmistakable presence. Gone were any remnants of the girl he remembered. He doubted she would be the same Cherish who would be content to get her hands dirty in the boat shop.

“Well, I’ll let you young people get acquainted,” Mr. Winslow said with a chuckle before moving away from the group.

“You have just returned from the Continent?” Mr. Townsend asked Cherish.

“Yes. My year abroad,” she said in a laughing tone that disparaged the event.

“I was there a few years ago.”

Cherish’s eyes widened in delight. “Truly? Where did you travel?”

“London, Paris, Vienna—all the capitals. We also had a wonderful time touring the Black Forest, the Swiss Alps and down the coast of Italy.”

“Oh, yes, aren’t those regions beautiful? I was so charmed by the scenery. I remember a perfect afternoon boating on Lac Léman. I must try to paint it some day from my sketches.”

“Yes, I was there, too. Château de Chillon.”

“Couldn’t you just picture Byron’s words?”

As the two continued chatting about mutual experiences in Europe, Silas glanced over at Annalise Townsend, who looked mutely from her brother’s face to Cherish’s. He judged her to be about Cherish’s age—nineteen.

“Have you been to the Continent as well, Miss Townsend?” he asked, wondering if she felt as out of place as he did. Although she, too, was fashionably dressed in a gown with a bustle, her outfit was somber in comparison to Cherish’s.

She shook her head silently. After a moment, as if realizing it was her turn to contribute to the conversation, she asked, “Have you?”

Silas had to bend forward to hear her soft tone. “No, I haven’t.” Then he grinned. “Would you like me to get you some refreshment? There is a delicious assortment of food inside.”

She looked hesitatingly at her brother. Cherish, having heard his question, turned to them. “Why don’t we all have something? The gentlemen can get us each a plate—how about that?” Before anyone could counter the suggestion, she took Annalise by the arm and led her toward the veranda.

About an hour later Cherish leaned against the veranda railing, eyeing the guests on the lawn. Several couples were ranged about croquet wickets set in the grass.

After eating with her and the Townsends in the parlor, Silas had excused himself and wandered off. She spotted him now, down on the lawn in conversation with a couple of men.

She was only half-sorry. If he’d stayed with her any longer, how much better acquainted would he have become with Miss Townsend? He certainly had a knack with the shy young lady, even getting her to smile now and again.

Cherish stifled a yawn, glancing to her side. Mr. Townsend still stood there, as if awaiting her next move. He reminded her so much of the dozens of young men she’d met in Europe—so proper, so “Yes, Miss Winslow. No, Miss Winslow. Here, let me get that for you, Miss Winslow.” She sometimes felt she’d drown in a sea of politeness.

She smiled at him, conscious of her duties as hostess. “Why don’t we play a round of croquet? Would you and your sister like that?”

At his ready assent, she led them both down to the yard, heading toward Silas to invite him along. If he thought he was going to spend the afternoon talking with a bunch of men he saw practically every day when she’d been deprived of his company for over two years, he could think again. And she’d make sure he’d be
her
partner! Mr. Townsend could assist his sister.

She and Silas had a lot of catching up to do.

T
he next morning Cherish entered her father’s office and breathed a sigh of relief to see him alone.

“Good morning, Papa. I’m sorry I missed you at breakfast. I was lazy this morning.”

“Hello, Cherish! As well you should be, only your second full day back. What are you doing down here? Your aunt want something?”

“No, nothing. Only to have me stay inside cooking and cleaning, but I escaped her.”

He chuckled. “Well, I suppose it’s not a bad idea to have her teach you a few things. I know she’s been after you, and I’ve been pretty indulgent with you since your mother passed away.”

Cherish patted his hand. Although it had been four years since her dear mama had succumbed to influenza, they both still felt the void she’d left behind. Even though his sister had taken over the housekeeping, things had never been the same.

Her father sighed. “Well, no matter. I want you to enjoy your summer. There’s plenty of time to think of other things.”

Cherish brought a chair over, to sit across the table from her father. Relieved, she looked at the plan he had been reviewing. “A new boat?”

“Yes, a forty-five-foot pinky.” He tapped the end of his pencil against the paper. “Charles Whitcomb’s commissioned it. He’ll use it up and down the coast for the herring trade and cod fishing. It’s not much of a boat, but I’m glad to have the job.” He sighed. “Business has slowed a bit lately. It’s not like the old days.”

Cherish studied the three profiles of the hull: side view, plan view and forward-and-aft view. “When will you lay the keel?”

“In a few weeks. I need to order the wood and draw up the loft mold.” He sat back, a smile creasing his face. At fifty-two, her father was still a good-looking man. His dark brown hair was thick, interspersed with only a few strands of gray. “I thought I’d go see what Townsend has in his lumberyard. You met his son yesterday. What did you think of him?”

“Nice enough, I suppose.”

“You don’t sound too enthusiastic.”

Cherish interlaced her fingers and extended her arms in front of her. “To be honest, he seemed a duplicate of most of the young gentlemen I’ve met since I’ve been away.”

“What do you find so wrong with today’s young gentlemen?” her father asked in amusement.

She made a face. “They’re so bland, like milksops.”

“Oh, come,” her father chided. “I wouldn’t call young Townsend a milksop. He seems a fine, strapping gentleman with a good head on his shoulders, and a good future, I might add. I’d be proud to have someone like him for a son-in-law.”

“Oh, Papa, I’m only nineteen and just returned home. Are you marrying me off already?”

“Of course not. You’re right. You have plenty of time for courting.” He looked down at the lines drawing and made a notation on the table of offsets. Then his dark eyes pierced hers. “Your mother was your age when she married me. I suppose people married younger back then.

“Girls are too modern nowadays. Wearing bloomers, wanting the same higher education as men…”

“As we should be entitled to,” she countered.

“Oh, well, I’m not going to debate that with you this morn
ing. It’s too fine a day and I’m too happy to have you back home again.” He coughed. “I just want you to promise me you’ll give young Townsend a second look. You’ve hardly known the man long enough to form an opinion.”

“That’s true,” she conceded. “I promise to withhold judgment on ‘young Warren Townsend the Third’ until further acquaintance.”

Ignoring her teasing tone, he said, “Good girl. I can’t ask for more than that. Now, why don’t you sail over with me to Hatsfield tomorrow? You can meet the Townsends again. Their daughter was about your age, wasn’t she?”

Cherish stopped herself from making a face as she thought of the insipid girl who could hardly get two words out without blushing and stammering. “Yes.”

“They’re a very nice family. They bought out McKinley’s Sawmill. They own a lot of timberland up-country. Townsend has plans for a few schooners to ship the lumber to Boston and farther on down the coast.”

Cherish’s interest perked up. “Maybe he’d contract us to build the schooners…although there are shipyards he could go to in Hatsfield.”

“Precisely.” Her father looked pleased at her acumen. “So far, I’ve managed only a nodding acquaintance with him. That should change now you’re here.”

“How so?”

“Well, Townsend’s offspring are about your age. Perhaps you could cultivate the friendship by planning a few parties and outings, now it’s summer weather, and invite them along.”

“Certainly, Papa, if you think it would help.” Cherish clasped her hands before her on the table. “Papa?”

“Yes, my dear?” He eyed her fondly.

“I’d like to help you out here in the shop.”

“Why, you’ve just helped. If you play hostess for me, you can’t imagine the benefits that could result.”

“I’d enjoy that. But Papa, what I mean by helping is that I want to work here, as I’ve done in the past, but now that I’m
finished with school, I want you to consider me a permanent helper—the way you did with Cousin Henry.”

Her father’s face soured. “Don’t talk to me about that ungrateful boy! After all the training I gave him, to up and leave me. Thinks he’s found greener pastures down in Boston. He’ll find out soon enough,” warned Winslow.

“You can’t blame him for wanting to work in a large shipyard where they’re building steamships. He sees the future there, and perhaps he’s right.”

“Those tramp steamers can’t compete over long distances with our three-masted schooners. They’ve got to fill half their hulls with coal. Think of the expense. And when their coal runs out, they’re dead in the water.”

“Yes, I know, Papa. I think there’ll always be a place for the sailing ship, but you can’t fault Henry for his ambition.”

Her father stared gloomily past her. “I groomed him to take over the shipyard, and now where am I? Certainly not getting any younger. He was the only family member left, the only one showing any promise for the business.”

“You have Silas.”

“What’s that?” He turned startled eyes toward her.

“I said, you have Silas. He can do anything Henry did. You know he can go beyond Henry. He can be more than a shipwright. You know he could design his own vessels given half the chance. He probably has half a dozen designs in his head.”

“Whoa, Cherish, you slow down. Silas works down in the yard. He’s a fine worker with a good understanding of ship’s carpentry, but don’t expect me to hand this shipyard over to him.” He turned back to his drawing.

Stifling her desire to argue further, she said instead, “Anyway, we were talking about me—about my working here.”

Her father sat back and folded his hands on the desk. “As to you, my dear, I know you’ve always had a hankering for boats and hanging around the shipyard, and I’ve indulged you in a good many ways, but you’re no longer a little girl. You’re a young lady. I’ve given you the best education money can buy just so you could go out in polite society and hold your head
high, knowing you’re as good as—better than—most ladies around here.”

“I appreciate all you’ve given me, but Papa, what I really want is to work with you.”

“Don’t be silly. A shipyard is no place for a lady.”

Cherish felt her temper rise, and she prayed for composure. “In that case, I relinquish my claims to the title ‘lady.’”

“It’s a little late for that,” he said dryly. “Do you honestly think I’ve invested all the time and money in your education and travels just to have you working in a boat shop?”

No doubt seeing the outrage in her eyes, he chuckled and patted her hand. “You’re too young to know what you want. I suggest you run along home and do what your aunt bids. You still have your watercoloring, don’t you? Why don’t you walk down to the harbor and paint some of the ships? Then tomorrow we’ll sail over to Hatsfield and you can do some shopping, visit some acquaintances and get to know the Townsends better. We’ll make a full day of it.”

“Papa,” she said quietly, swallowing her frustration with an effort, knowing it would do no good to vent it before her father, “what
are
you going to do about replacing Henry?”

Her father ran a hand through his hair in a gesture of impatience. “I haven’t figured that out yet. At this point, I don’t need any extra hands.”

“Then let me help you out a while, until you do decide!” She stood and came around the table to her father and put her arms around his shoulders. “Please, Papa! I’ve learned much about draftsmanship over the years. It’s true I haven’t been here full-time as Henry was, or—or—Silas, but I made Henry teach me everything you taught him. I can help with the lofting. I can keep the books. They didn’t only teach us to be ladies at school. I learned solid geometry. I learned enough arithmetic to keep track of your bills and expenses.

“Oh, Papa, please,
please,
say yes!” Annoyed with herself even as she gave him her most persuasive smile, and wondering why, with all her new maturity, she still had to resort to little-girl tactics, she held her breath, awaiting his reply.

“Oh, I suppose it wouldn’t do any harm for you to putter around a bit here in the office.” He gave her a stern look. “But only up here. I don’t want you down on the yard. And get these silly notions of Silas out of your head. I know
whom
to put in charge of
what
in my shipyard. I know my men better than anyone else.

“Now, you spend some time with Phoebe, doing as she tells you, paint me some nice sailing pictures and play hostess for me the way I asked.”

He turned to the shelf behind him. “If you do all I tell you, you can have this.” He handed her a wooden half-hull model of a boat, about a foot and a half in length.

She took the smooth wooden boat, which was attached to a plank of wood. Above it was labeled in neat print “13’ Whitehall.”

“It’s a model for Ernest Mitchell. Let’s see how much you do know. You loft it, and I’ll judge what you’re capable of.”

Her eyes widened in delight. She’d gotten what she’d come for! “Really, Papa?”

He smiled at his daughter’s delight. “Get along with you. Go make yourself useful somehow so I can get back to my work.”

Deciding she’d better table her arguments in Silas’s favor for the present, she gave her father a quick hug, “Oh, yes, Papa! I’ll be the best hostess! I’ll become the best cook and housekeeper Haven’s End has ever seen!
Thank you, Papa!
”

She bent and gave him a kiss on his whiskered cheek, then fairly flew out of the office, headed for the workshop.

She was halfway out the office door, her mind spinning with ideas, when her father’s voice stopped her. “Remember, we’ll go to Hatsfield tomorrow. I want you to be especially nice to young Townsend and his sister.”

“Of course, Papa. I’ll put on my best company manners and play the lady to the hilt.”

Silas came into the boat shop after working the morning down in the yard, hewing timbers with an ax for the frames and planks for the schooner keel that sat on the stocks down
on the beach. Although the spring day was still fresh, he felt hot and thirsty from his labors.

He stopped short at the sight of Cherish at the worktable.

He glanced down at his sweat- and tar-stained work shirt. “Hello, Cherish. What are you doing here?” He felt suddenly awkward before her dainty femininity. He wasn’t used to the new, grown-up Cherish. At least she looked more like her old self in a cotton frock and apron, her hair tied back with a bow.

She gave him a frown. “Not you, too! Didn’t you think I’d be here?”

He wiped his shirtsleeve against his forehead as he approached her. “Not quite so soon. You’ve only just arrived home.” He raised a brow skeptically. “Did you miss this place so much?”

Her eyes chided him. “This place
and
its people.”

He could feel himself flushing under her intent slate-blue gaze. For a second it seemed she was referring to him alone. Shaking aside the foolish notion, he observed, “At least I have less trouble recognizing you today.”

She glanced down at herself. “Yes, my gowns are all put away for the moment, though I suppose I’ll be diverting you tomorrow with a latest Parisian creation.”

“Don’t tell me—another party?”

She shook her head, but didn’t say anything more. Her tone turned brisk. “Papa has given me this half-hull for a thirteen-foot Whitehall. He doesn’t think I’ll be able to loft it.” She grinned, suddenly transformed into the little girl he remembered, always out to prove she was as capable as the men around her.

He neared the table and reached for the model. As he did so, an elusive fragrance reached his nostrils. It reminded him of dew-sprinkled lilacs in June. He didn’t remember ever smelling perfume on Cherish before.

He cleared his throat and turned his mind back to the boat in front of him.

“Well, you certainly tagged after Henry enough to know everything he knew. But it’s been two years since you’ve stepped
into a boat shop. Aren’t you afraid you’ve forgotten a few things?”

She touched the model with a fingertip. “I think it’s one of those things that isn’t easily forgotten. Just looking at this hull brings back all sorts of recollections.”

She gave him a sidelong glance, mischief lighting the blue depths of her eyes. “Anyway, we are going to loft this together.”

“We?” He quirked an eyebrow up. “Since when am I a draftsman?”

“Since Henry left…and Papa has no immediate plans to replace him.”

Silas was surprised. “He doesn’t?”

She shook her head, sending the little dangling earrings with their minute turquoise stones shaking. Then she frowned. “He says at present he doesn’t need anyone else. He told me it has been slow around here. Has it?”

Silas looked out the square-paned window that overlooked the shipyard below. The tide was out, leaving smooth mudflats visible, with rivulets of water running between them in crooked lines down toward the sea.

“Yes, I suppose it has, this past year especially. We used to average three good-sized vessels a year, up to seven-hundred-ton ships, in addition to the smaller craft.” He nodded down at the stocks. “That’s a fifty-ton schooner—small for us—and it’s the only sizable order this spring. Everything else is like this.” He motioned toward the model on the table.