Lilac Spring (20 page)

Tears rolled down her cheeks as she felt a pain more acute than any physical pain she’d ever experienced. But she felt a release in saying the words, as if because they had been spoken aloud, with only the witness of the trees, they could not be taken back.

Silas climbed the steps to the shack’s porch, feeling bone weary, a bag containing a loaf of bread and a wedge of cheese in his hand. If he hadn’t felt so filthy, he would have had neither the will nor the energy to wash himself. After spending the day at the factory, he’d put in a few hours on the shipyard.

The men had been happy to see him back. He’d explained how he wasn’t coming back permanently, only until Mr. Wins
low was up and about again. He’d told them he was just waiting until then to pull up stakes and head for a bigger shipyard—letting them believe it was his ambition that had led to his rift with Winslow. After all, didn’t Winslow himself believe it now? Maybe it was true. Maybe all along he’d wanted Winslow to give him credit and treat him as an heir apparent.

The work on the schooner had soon occupied the men and left little time for personal conversation. Even though Silas had been tired when he’d arrived on the stocks, the work had invigorated him. He’d felt like a human being again, someone worthy of something.

But now, after half-past eight in the evening, he felt he could fall asleep in his clothes, fish scales, sawdust and all. He didn’t know how long he would be able to keep up this pace. He was eating poorly, and every morning before the rising of the sun he felt as if he could use a few more hours’ sleep.

“Hey, there, Silas, you back?” came Tobias’s slurred voice from the darkened porch.

“Yes.”

“Still working at the shipyard?”

“Yes, I will be every night this week, as I told you.” Since the weather had been hot and sunny, he’d filled the washtub from the well before he’d left in the morning and left it sitting in the sun. It was still tepid from the day’s heat.

He began stripping off his clothes in the dusk.

“Yes, so you did,” Tobias said reflectively, drawing on his cold pipe.

Silas, used to the old man’s presence by now, turned his back on him and proceeded with his bathing.

“We used to wash with salt water aboard ship. Yep, and our clothes, too. They never felt clean, just stiff.” He chuckled.

Silas, having heard the same thing every evening, knew no reply was necessary. After his bath he went inside to fix supper. Tobias shuffled in after a while. Theirs had become a ritual. Tobias would sit at the table, rambling on about various things, mostly events that had taken place in the past, while Silas set about preparing a simple meal. Tobias would accept
whatever he served him and usually ate very little. Silas wondered what kept him alive.

Afterward, the two sat awhile, the kerosene lamp between them, and Silas listened until weariness finally overcame him and he excused himself to lie on the sofa. He drifted off to sleep to the sound of Tobias’s unsteady hand pouring himself another nightcap.

“I remember sailing on the square-rigger
Emerald Seas.
She was a beauty, built right down in Belfast…sixteen hundred tons, two hundred and two feet long…Boston to ’Frisco with a cargo worth more than forty thousand dollars. She was lost in a hurricane in ’49.” His lips smacked after taking a sip from his bottle. “Clipper
Red Jacket
…handsomest vessel I ever laid eyes on…extreme clipper she was…”

Silas was continuously amazed at the old man’s memory when it came to ship specifications, dates and sailing times. He probably had no idea what day it was, but he was a compendium of information on the sailing vessels he’d signed aboard.

As the old man went on about sailing times, ship length and beam, crews and their hard-driving captains, Silas felt a deep gloom come over him. To hear the days of Tobias’s youth and manhood was to hear of the glory days of sailing ships built on the down east coast. He argued with himself that there were still good ships being built in these parts, but it was hard to compare the cargo horses of his day with those sharp-hulled, sail-laden vessels of the forties and fifties.

The next morning he rose to face the dirty dishes of the evening before, in addition to the raucous snores of Tobias lying faceup, a dirty quilt covering him, and the general dirt and decay of the one-room shack, which the evening had managed to dim.

He put on his other set of work clothes, drew up the threadbare quilt over his sofa and placed the remaining bread and cheese in his dinner pail for his noon meal. Finally he opened a can of beans and sat and ate directly from the can as he watched the sky lighten the horizon.

McDuffie’s invitation came back to him again, as it had every day since the pastor had issued it. Silas didn’t know why he
didn’t accept it. All he knew was that he’d fought the pastor’s hand of friendship.

But he also knew he couldn’t live the way Tobias lived much longer.

Cherish had Ezra sail her over to Hatsfield on Tuesday. June was nearly over, and she knew she must do something about the note coming due. She’d spent many a night agonizing over it. There seemed only one thing to do—go to her father’s other creditors and ask for extensions on bills due, pleading her father’s incapacitation. She also thought about visiting some of the other businesses and seeing what she could do about interesting them in future shipbuilding.

The Townsends came to mind, but she shied away from approaching them about business. Her father’s wishes were too apparent. She wondered how much her father and Warren had discussed relations between their two families.

Several hours later she left a lumberyard. She felt only half-successful. Most of the businesses had been sympathetic when she’d told them about her father’s condition. They had been generous with giving Winslow more time to pay his bills. But as far as securing more business was concerned, the well for ships seemed to have dried up. The Townsend company seemed to be the only firm interested in building new schooners for the coastal trade.

She walked along Main Street, remembering how much she used to like to come to this bustling town to shop in the emporiums and dry goods stores. She stopped before a millinery, admiring the display of new hats. She hadn’t thought about her attire in an age, she realized. This morning she had dressed with care, choosing her most sober outfit, but only because she wanted to be taken seriously by the businessmen she would see.

With a sigh she turned away from the display. The day was hot. Her feet were beginning to ache, her corset to pinch and her high collar to chafe at her neck. How she longed to sail back to Haven’s End. To take her hair down from its tight chignon
and braid it simply down the back, to put on her old calico and perhaps spend a few hours working on the Whitehall. Ezra and Will had taken turns working on it with her, but how she missed the partnership she’d had with Silas those afternoons.

Silas took advantage of a lull in their evening conversation to tell Tobias about his decision.

“I’m moving into the parsonage tomorrow. Pastor McDuffie has invited me to live with him, until I decide where I’m going.”

Tobias didn’t say anything, his toothless mouth moving silently. Finally he took a swig from his bottle. “Well, good luck to you. I’ll miss the chow.”

“I’ll be by to see you.”

“Sure. Anytime. I’m always here,” he said, then cackled at the observation.

“Thanks—” Silas cleared his throat. “Thanks for having me.”

Tobias waved a hand groggily in the air. “Don’t mention it, boy. Any time, any time.” He belched, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “We seamen have to help each other out. I remember back in fifty-two…” His voice rambled on and Silas tried to stifle the pity he felt for the shell of the able seaman.

Would he end up like Tobias some day, telling some young fellow about all the ships and schooners he’d built anonymously? He shook aside the gloomy thought and focused instead on his upcoming move. Maybe it would be the first step in pulling up stakes and making a truly new beginning.

T
he next evening Silas knocked at the door of the parsonage, seeing a light still on through the lace-covered window.

The parsonage lay across from Haven’s End harbor. From its porch, Silas could see the fishing boats moored for the evening. The sky was dusk, the lights beginning to twinkle from the white clapboard houses across the harbor.

The sound of the door opening brought him back to his reason for standing there.

“Silas!” Pastor McDuffie greeted him heartily. “Come in. Let me take that for you.”

Silas didn’t relinquish his satchel. “I hope I’m not disturbing you so late. I’ve been putting in a few hours down on the shipyard after my shift at the factory. I didn’t want to waste the daylight hours.”

“Of course not. Come on in,” he said, ushering him into the front hallway. “Look who finally came by,” he told his wife, who had come into the hall.

“Hello, Silas.” Mrs. McDuffie greeted him with a smile as she held out her hand to him. “Welcome. I hope this means you’ve decided to take my husband up on his invitation.”

Silas looked down, still feeling uncomfortable with the notion. “Yes, if you’re sure it’s no trouble.”

Mrs. McDuffie’s smile deepened. “No trouble at all. Have you eaten?”

Silas was about to say yes, when she turned toward the interior of the house. “Come along. I’ll make you a snack. My husband will take your bag upstairs.”

He looked at the pastor. “I really should wash up first. I didn’t have time after leaving the cannery.”

“Certainly. Come along.”

When he was cleaned up, he entered the kitchen. Mrs. McDuffie turned to him with a smile and indicated a seat. “Come, have your food.”

“I’m sorry to put you to so much trouble.”

“If I hear one more thing about ‘trouble’ I shall become seriously offended.”

He pulled out the chair and sat down. Suddenly the food looked very good—a simple chicken sandwich, a dish of stewed rhubarb and a glass of milk.

He bowed his head and gave thanks, realizing he had more than just the food for which to be thankful.

Mrs. McDuffie worked on a basket of mending at the other end of the table. Silas ate hungrily, realizing how food had lost its taste for him since he had left the Winslows, but tonight it held its full savor.

Mrs. McDuffie didn’t engage him in conversation, yet he felt a serenity about her presence. When he was nearly finished eating, her husband came in and sat down across from Silas.

“I’m glad you’ve come to stay with us, Silas,” he told him. “Do you have any other plans right now?”

Silas stacked the empty bowl onto the plate and sat back on his chair. Mrs. McDuffie stood to remove the dirty dishes. Immediately Silas began to rise, but she stayed him with a light touch on his shoulder. “Sit,” she told him with a soft smile.

He turned his attention back to McDuffie. “I was thinking about applying to a shipyard farther afield, Calais, or farther down the coast—Rockland or Belfast.”

The pastor nodded but said nothing. When his wife came back to the table, he turned to her. “Let’s pray for Silas and ask the Lord’s direction for his life.”

Before Silas knew what he was about, McDuffie reached across the table offering his hands to both his wife and Silas. Silas laid his own in the pastor’s warm one, which immediately clasped it firmly.

“Dear Lord, We come before You by the precious blood of Your Son, Jesus. You see Silas here. You know the desires of his heart. You know his destiny, the plan You have for his life, and the call You have upon it. We ask for Your illumination and guidance for him. Clarify things for him. Grant him the ‘knowledge of Your will in all wisdom and understanding.’ Grant him the grace to conform to Your perfect will that he might walk worthy of You, Lord, unto ‘all pleasing, being fruitful in every good work, always increasing in the knowledge of You.’ We ask these things in Your dear Son’s name.”

Pastor McDuffie released his hand and smiled at him as if everything were already taken care of. There was nothing Silas need concern himself with further.

That night, Silas slept between lilac-scented sheets. He lay, resting his head on his hands, looking up at the ceiling, feeling clean for the first time since he began working in the factory.

He didn’t understand why the pastor and his wife had put themselves out on his account. He certainly didn’t feel deserving of their hospitality. He still felt a twinge of regret at having left Tobias, almost as if he’d abandoned him. But he knew it was nonsense. The old man was deep into his cups by now and would soon notice nothing around him. He decided to visit him on the weekend when he had a little more time.

Silas turned finally and buried himself in the pillow. The scent reminded him of Cherish, and he had to fight the urge to indulge in thoughts of her. He’d managed to avoid her at the shipyard and hadn’t seen her since the Sunday dinner she’d prepared.

It was best this way. The recollection of their kiss would fade in time. Soon he would be moving away to a place where sail
ing ships were still being built. Tobias’s stories had inspired him to seek a place where he could learn more about building better and faster craft.

On Sunday morning Jacob hitched up the buggy. Dr. Turner had pronounced Mr. Winslow well enough to attend church as long as he didn’t walk there.

Cherish waved to him and Aunt Phoebe as they set off. Then she turned to Annalise, whom she had invited down for the weekend. Taking her by the arm, the two set off walking to the church. They had sat up the evening before in her bedroom talking a good long time. Once Annalise had asked about Silas. Cherish could tell by her demeanor that she was smitten.

Although it pained her as before, since her prayer she had felt a curious sort of release. Determined not to let jealousy get the best of her, she would see how Silas reacted to Annalise. Surely he would be in church this Sunday!

He was not only in church, but he was acting as usher. Cherish’s eyes widened as she saw him escort an elderly couple to their pew.

“Good morning, Cherish,” McDuffie greeted her cheerfully. “Whom have you brought along with you?”

“Good morning, Pastor McDuffie. This is my friend Annalise Townsend from Hatsfield. She has come to spend the weekend with me.”

“Welcome, Miss Townsend.” Pastor McDuffie shook her hand.

“Is Silas ushering?” Cherish ventured before the pastor had a chance to move on to greet others.

“Yes, indeed. I asked him to this morning.” Seeing her gaze following him, he added, “He’s come to stay with Mrs. McDuffie and myself.”

“He has?” she asked in surprise. Then she smiled. “I’m so glad.”

“Yes, I thought you might be. We invited him a while ago, but he didn’t accept the invitation until the other night. He seems to have grown fond of old Tobias. He even went out to see him yesterday.”

Cherish nodded, her gaze going back to Silas. Yes, Silas would do that, she thought, all the love she thought she’d settled into the deep recesses of her heart welling up once again, threatening to overwhelm her reason.

“Why don’t you stop by the parsonage this afternoon for a visit? We haven’t seen you for a while. Come have a good chat with Carrie.”

“Yes, I should love to,” Cherish answered with a smile. “Annalise has made Silas’s acquaintance, and it will be nice for her to see him again, as well.”

The two turned to Annalise, who began to blush furiously. Cherish, taking pity on her, took her by the arm. “We’d best find our seats. Papa is already in the pew. We shall see you this afternoon, then.”

“So long,” McDuffie said with a smile.

As they sat through the service, Cherish didn’t get a chance to see Silas. The church was full, and she surmised he must be at the back. She saw him once again when the collection was taken up. He passed the plate down their half of the pews. Cherish’s glance crossed his when he came to their row, although they were too far apart for either of them to say anything to each other. She noticed his glance going to Annalise, and she wondered what he thought of seeing her again.

Was there any chance he might come to care for Annalise?

Her mind went back to the verses she’d been reading every day since giving her love over to the Lord. Charity bears all things. Would she be able to bear it if Silas fell in love with Annalise? She remembered Warren’s words. Perhaps Silas’s future lay with the Townsends.

Could Cherish think more highly of Annalise than she did of herself, as her Lord commanded her to?

She prayed for His grace, remembering what Jesus had promised: My grace is sufficient for thee. If Jesus had said it, it must be so. She must receive it by faith.

In the afternoon Cherish and Annalise rode to the parsonage on the other side of the bay. Hoping to see Silas, and yet
fearing the encounter, Cherish got down from the buggy and relinquished the reins to Pastor McDuffie.

“Glad you could stop by. Carrie is out on the back veranda. Come along.”

Cherish had to bite back her desire to ask where Silas was. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw him sitting on the veranda steps playing cat’s cradle with Janey.

“Hello, Cherish, Annalise,” Mrs. McDuffie greeted them.

“Hello, Silas.” Cherish turned to him as he rose.

“Hello, Cherish,” he answered. “Good to see you again, Annalise.”

Cherish looked from one to another, but she could read nothing from Silas’s features, although Annalise was looking as if she’d met her hero in person.

They took the wicker chairs, and Silas went back to his seat with Janey. Cherish felt a pang hearing the murmur of their two voices, remembering herself at Janey’s age when she’d first met Silas. He had always been patient and kind with her.

She sighed and turned her attention to the conversation between the McDuffies and Annalise. The day was beautiful. She gazed at the garden, which was full of blooming lilacs and purple lupines and pink phlox.

Her glance strayed to Silas, although she’d fought the urge to do so countless times. He was watching her, but immediately turned his attention back to the string in Janey’s hand.

Why hadn’t he come by the house at all? She knew he came to the shipyard in the evenings and his contribution was evident, not only in the work on the schooner but also in the uplifted spirits of the workmen. They seemed to have a renewed confidence in the operation of the shipyard since he’d been back.

The burden of the debt weighed upon her. Its weight would come upon her in sudden bursts, when she’d thought she’d managed to put it out of her mind. She still had no idea what to do.

“Let me get some refreshment,” Mrs. McDuffie said.

Cherish got up. “I’ll help you. No, you stay here,” she quickly reassured Annalise. “Why don’t you show her around,
Silas?” she suggested on impulse. “You two must have some catching up to do.” She turned to the pastor. “They were dance partners a few weeks back at my house,” she explained with a smile. Pastor McDuffie merely raised an eyebrow.

She hurried after Mrs. McDuffie before either of them could refuse her suggestion, not quite sure why she had made it. She certainly didn’t want them to advance their acquaintance. Why had she made such a silly suggestion, then? Another ugly thought entered her mind. Was she trying to prove how saintly she was?

In the kitchen Cherish peered out the lace curtain at Silas walking around the garden, Janey skipping along on one side and Annalise walking more sedately on his other side.

They could have been a married couple with their child beside them. Cherish’s hand twisted the edge of the curtain.

“They make a nice couple, don’t they?” she blurted out when Carrie McDuffie came to stand by her a moment.

“Yes,” she ventured slowly. “Excuse me if I’m prying, but I was under the impression you cared about Silas and he about you. Has something changed?”

Cherish looked down. “Yes. I’m letting him go, I suppose.” She looked up with a sad smile. “What I mean is I’m giving up my dream of having him. I guess the Lord helped me see how obsessed I was becoming with the notion.”

Carrie touched her cheek. “Praise the Lord, then. Don’t worry, if it’s of God, you and Silas will be together.”

“I don’t think so.” Her gaze followed the couple in the garden. “It’s becoming less and less likely.”

“Is that why you brought your friend out to visit? Is she a sort of consolation prize for Silas?”

Her eyes turned to Carrie in shock. But seeing only sympathy, she tried to explain. “No. I think Annalise is sweet on him. And for a while I even thought Silas might like her, too. Now I don’t know. Maybe I was hoping to see today. I don’t know,” she ended miserably.

“It’s not for us to play matchmaker. I think that’s more safely left in God’s hands,” Carrie told her gently.

“But Silas—he’s so reserved. He might miss an opportunity. He certainly doesn’t want me. He’s made it very clear.” She couldn’t help the bitterness creeping into her tone and was instantly ashamed of it. “Besides, the Townsends think highly of Silas. Think of the future he’d have with them.”

Carrie’s hand rested on her belly a moment and a look of wonder crossed her face.

“What is it?” Cherish asked. “Are you all right?”

Carrie didn’t speak for a few seconds, then she smiled. “Yes, I’m fine. It was just the first time I’ve felt him move.”

“Felt him move?” What was she talking about? Cherish looked down at the soft mound of Carrie’s abdomen.

“The baby.” At Cherish’s look of amazement, Carrie laughed. “Come, feel.” She took Cherish’s hand and placed it over her apron.

Cherish could feel nothing, and felt awkward with her hand on Carrie. But suddenly there was a shifting under her palm. Her eyes widened and she smiled. “Yes! I felt the baby!”

“Now, Cherish,” Carrie said, taking up the thread of their previous conversation, her voice brisker, “don’t fret about Silas. It’s not for you to try to figure out his future for him. Give him time to find his own way. Give your father time to see the kind of man he is.”

“He’s had fourteen years!” she cried in anguish, turning back for a last look at Silas. “And he’s dead set against anything between Silas and me. And now—and now—” She wrung her hands, thinking of the debt that hung over Winslow’s Shipyard.