Lilac Spring Read online

  Silas shook his head.

  “Is Papa giving you more to do now that Henry has left?” As soon as Henry had reached his majority, he had accepted a job at a larger shipyard in Boston.

  “My job’s the same as it’s always been.”

  She frowned. “Papa doesn’t need to replace Cousin Henry. He has you. You’re much more talented than Henry ever could be. I’m sure that’s why Papa hasn’t found a replacement for him.”

  When he made no comment, she went on. “My time wasn’t completely wasted those years at the young ladies’ academy in Massachusetts.” She smiled at him conspiratorially. “All that pin money Papa sent me—most of it went for lessons. I learned as much as I could pay for about naval architecture.”

  She leaned forward eagerly, placing a hand on his forearm. “I’ll teach you everything I know. But I’ll need your help, Silas. Papa will fight me on this. Do you believe I can work with you here?”

  She held her breath as he remained silent. Would he laugh at her ambitions the way her father did?

  “I don’t think my opinion holds much weight with your father, but for whatever it’s worth, I’m on your side.”

  “But will you think I’m just a nuisance hanging around here in the shop? Or do you think I can earn an honest day’s pay?”

  “After the time you spent with Henry, I know you’re just as capable as he of drawing up a floor mold.”

  “Thank you, Silas.” Slowly she removed her hand from his arm and offered it to him. He took it in his and they shook on it as if they’d just come to a momentous agreement.

  Silas scraped at his jaw with the razor’s edge. He would have preferred many times over to have stayed down at the yard working on the schooner in the stocks, but he knew Cherish would be hurt if he didn’t attend her homecoming party. She’d made him promise to be there.

  He bent over the basin and washed the shaving soap off his face, wetting the front part of his hair in the process. He patted his face dry before taking up a comb and doing his best to flatten the damp hair as he looked at himself in the small square of mirror hung on the wall above his washbasin.

  His blond hair looked dark and slicked back now, but he knew it would fall back against his forehead as soon as he was out the door. He turned away from the mirror and took up the clean white shirt folded in the chest of drawers. Mrs. Sullivan, Cherish’s aunt, insisted on doing his laundry, ironing and mending his clothes—“keeping him in clothes”—as she called it, the way she’d done since he’d first come to the Winslows as a boy. She said he was family to her and she wouldn’t do less for him than for her own boy, Henry.

  As he unbuttoned the starched shirt and slipped it on, he marveled at how grown-up Cherish had become in the time she’d been away. She’d been away before—off to boarding school during her secondary school years, but home during holidays and summers, always coming around to the shop as soon as she arrived. But he hadn’t seen her in over two years, between the year at an exclusive girls’ academy near Boston, followed by another year on the Continent accompanying a wealthy distant cousin.

  Silas hadn’t expected her to come straight to the boat shop. It must be a testimony to her dedication to boatbuilding that a year in Europe had not diminished it.

  He put on his gray trousers, his only good pair, and knotted a string tie under the collar of his shirt. Last of all, he pulled on the dark blue sack coat, which had seen quite a few summers already. Glancing into the small mirror one last time, with another unsuccessful attempt at smoothing back the wave that fell forward, he headed toward the door.

  A short walk brought him to the Winslow residence, a large Victorian house set high on a bluff. A veranda ran all along the front, with turrets at each end. The house overlooked the inlet, and from its height one could catch a glimpse of the village farther down the road at the mouth of the harbor.

  Arriving at the house, Silas ignored the invitation of the wide-open front door and headed on up the drive to the kitchen entrance he’d been using since he was a lad.

  The screen door banged shut behind him as he left the sunshine and entered the dimmer kitchen. Celia, the kitchen maid, greeted him and sent him toward the front, telling him that Cherish had been asking for him.

  He walked down the corridor, the noise of people having a good time growing louder with each step. The party was in full swing in the large front room overlooking the veranda. He clearly distinguished Cherish’s voice among the crowd of people.

  He stood still, watching her. Once again he had to gaze in wonder at the transformation in her. Not that she hadn’t always been a pretty girl, but now she looked so much like a lady. She wore—He searched for an adequate word. Frock didn’t seem to describe the concoction she wore. It was nothing like the simple schoolgirl dresses and pinafores he’d been accustomed to seeing her in. This gown sported bright blue polka dots on a white background. The skirt was all gathered up in the back and cascaded down in folds like a waterfall. A wide blue sash draped over one side. The rest of the skirt seemed to be all ruffles and pleats. The bodice was the complete opposite, molded tightly to reveal a tiny waist and hourglass figure.

  As soon as she spotted him, she headed straight toward him.

  “Silas, there you are!” Cherish reached out both her hands to his and gave him a wide, welcoming smile. Her dark brown hair was also dressed very differently from the pigtails or ponytail she used to favor. Now it was pulled back, showing a wide creamy forehead, and fell from the top of her head in ringlets. Little dangling earrings shook each time she moved, bringing his attention to her soft pearly earlobes.

  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.

  Chapter Two

  The 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 morning. 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 i
t’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.”