Lilac Spring (25 page)

One month later
August 1875

S
ilas hadn’t been able to concentrate all morning on the work on the schooner. The Winslows were due back that day and all he could think of was seeing Cherish once again. He was aware just when the schooner from Eastport lowered anchor in the harbor. He calculated the time of their disembarking, knowing Jacob was meeting them with the wagon and bringing them home.

He wondered if they would come to the boat shop at all today. He couldn’t imagine Mr. Winslow not making an appearance.

Silas came up from the shipyard and looked over the shop one more time. The wood shavings had been swept up, the tools neatly hung on their hooks or placed into the toolbox. No new work had begun, and if the cavernous room had a vacant look, at least it looked neat and clean.

When the afternoon waned and no one from the Winslow house came, Silas swallowed his disappointment. He toyed
with the idea of going there and reporting on things in the past month, but then changed his mind. They were probably weary from their journey. Maybe Winslow even had taken to his bed.

He hadn’t had news from any of them in the month they’d been away. He’d known from Celia only that they’d spent most of the month on a lake resort somewhere in the White Mountains with a cousin, the same one who’d escorted Cherish all over Europe.

Cherish hadn’t written to him at all, not even a postcard.

He sighed and closed the shop in the late afternoon. No use keeping it open. He headed to the point to work on the yacht in Caleb’s workshop.

The following morning he came down to the shipyard without bothering to stop at either the boat shop or office, not thinking anyone would be there so early. But when he arrived at the schooner, Will hailed him.

“The boss is back,” he said with a grin. “Wants to see you as soon as you’re in.”

“Thanks,” Silas replied, turning and heading back up the beach to the buildings, neither his tone nor features betraying what he was feeling inside. Would she be with her father? Would Winslow be satisfied with Silas’s stewardship during the time he’d been away?

He knocked on the office door and opened it. His eyes went immediately to Cherish, who sat in front of her father’s desk, studying a ledger. She glanced up as he entered, but said nothing.

His eyes lingered on her. She wore a simple navy blue skirt and white blouse, her hair in a knot at the nape of her neck. She looked older, more subdued than he was accustomed to seeing her.

“Silas! There you are!” Tom Winslow called out, standing and coming around the desk, his hand stretched out.

“Welcome back, sir,” Silas responded, dragging his eyes from Cherish and taking the proffered hand. Winslow took his in a firm grip. “You’re looking very well,” he told Cherish’s father, noting the man’s tanned features and cheery demeanor.

“I feel like a new man. How have you been, son? Everything looks wonderful. You did a fine job holding down the fort, didn’t he, Cherish?” He turned toward his daughter.

“Yes,” she answered quietly.

Silas wondered at her reserved manner. Was it her father’s health? Was it the fact that no new orders had come into the shipyard? Why then did Winslow seem so exuberant?

Winslow kept a hand on his arm and led him toward a window overlooking the shipyard below. They saw the schooner hull, which the men were painting.

“She’s about ready to launch. Have you set a date?”

Silas glanced at Winslow. He wanted
Silas
to set a date? He felt the pressure of Winslow’s hand on his arm. He couldn’t recall Winslow ever touching him like the son he was calling him. “No. I thought I’d wait until you got back.”

“So, what do you estimate?”

He shrugged. “Another week, ten days. We’re just painting the hull with the copper paint. The rest of the interior work can be done after she’s launched.”

Winslow nodded. “Good, then. Let’s look at the calendar.”

They walked back to the desk and leaned over a desk calendar. This time Cherish didn’t look up. Silas gazed at the top of her head.

Having no reason to linger, although Winslow seemed in no hurry to dismiss him, Silas said, “Well, I’ll get back down to the yard.”

“Oh, sure. Didn’t mean to keep you. Say, why don’t you come up to the house for dinner?”

Silas glanced from father to daughter, who seemed not to have heard, although he noticed her pencil had stopped writing.

“Thank you, but Mrs. McDuffie is expecting me at the parsonage.”

“Oh, of course. Well, what about tomorrow? That way you can let her know you won’t be home. I want to speak to you about a few things.”

“All right,” he answered slowly, wondering what was coming. The termination of their temporary arrangement?

He nodded to Cherish, who looked up only when he was saying goodbye to her father.

“I’ll be seeing you, Cherish.”

“Goodbye, Silas.”

The next morning Silas entered the boat shop hoping to see Cherish before going down to the shipyard. He breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing her sitting on a high stool, looking at a lines drawing, like old times.

He cleared his throat. “Good morning.”

“Good morning.”

Again she was a vision to his hungry eyes, dressed this morning in a pretty calico print, her hair in a ponytail. He approached the worktable. “Are you glad to be back home?” he asked, wondering how to get past the formality that was between them.

“Yes.”

“How was Boston?”

“Very nice, thank you.”

She was studying the plan, and he couldn’t help the disappointment he felt at her dismissive though polite replies.

“Did you see many friends?”

“Yes. What do you think of this plan for a schooner?” she asked. “On our trip back George Henderson asked Papa for his opinion. He’s thinking of having it built.”

Silas drew the paper closer to him and looked at it, but his eyes didn’t really see it. Instead, the hint of lilacs reached his nostrils and he noticed the sheen of the dark brown hair cascading from its yellow ribbon down Cherish’s back.

He remembered the feel of her soft lips against his in this very room. It seemed an eternity ago.

“Well?” Cherish asked him, seemingly unaware of where his thoughts had wandered. Her own tone was businesslike.

He focused on the lines drawing and saw it held the three views for a forty-foot fishing smack. He made the proper replies, all the while realizing that his harsh words to her had been as effective as he’d hoped. Cherish acted like a polite ac
quaintance, and he didn’t blame her. He’d treated her rather cavalierly and now he was reaping the rewards.

At the noon hour he quickly washed up at the water pump and put on the clean shirt he had brought. He managed to enter the office before Cherish had left.

Her father looked up with a smile. “Are you ready to join us? The Boston doctor said I had to do a lot of walking.”

They walked three abreast, Cherish between them. Winslow asked him about the McDuffies. “I ran into Captain Phelps. He said you were doing some work for him. Tell me about it.”

His tone did not seem accusatory in the least. “Well, he wanted to commission a yacht. Actually it’s for an acquaintance of his in Boston. We worked on some plans and models and have laid the keel. His friend wants it built mainly for speed.”

Winslow nodded and asked him some more questions about it. He seemed genuinely interested. Although Cherish had given him a startled glance at the first mention of Caleb, she did not participate in the conversation at all. Silas swallowed his disappointment, remembering all the times Cherish and he had discussed different aspects of boat design.

Soon they arrived at the house, where Silas was greeted warmly by Mrs. Sullivan.

Although the meal proceeded pleasantly enough, he soon noticed that it was Mrs. Sullivan and Mr. Winslow carrying the conversation. Cherish answered cheerfully enough when spoken to, but did not contribute of her own accord. He keenly missed her interest in his boatbuilding activities.

As soon as the meal was over, she disappeared into the kitchen to help her aunt and Celia with washing up. Silas felt frustrated in his desire to see her alone and ask her about her month away. What had it done to her? What had
he
done to her?

But Mr. Winslow called him into the parlor. “The doctor forbade my accustomed cigar,” he told him as he settled himself in his armchair. “Have a seat, Silas.”

Winslow sat regarding him a moment when the two were seated. Silas began to feel uncomfortable. He wasn’t used to Mr. Winslow’s new manner—half jovial, half amused. It was
almost as if the two of them—father and daughter—had undergone some sort of transformation during their time away, more so than in the two years Cherish had spent away from Haven’s End.

“So you’ve found favor with Caleb Phelps.”

“For the time being. There’s no knowing how the vessel will sail until it’s launched.”

“That’s true, that’s true. But you’ve got a track record, Silas. I have all the confidence that she’ll be a beauty.”

Silas shifted on his seat. “Well, it’s only one yacht. I still need to find full-time work at a shipyard. I was just waiting…until you came back.” He cleared his throat. “And now, until the yacht is completed.”

“Yes, of course.” Winslow fell silent again, though he continued to regard Silas keenly, until Silas felt as if there must be something unusual about his face.

“I’m selling the shipyard,” he said abruptly.

Silas stared at Winslow. “Excuse me?”

“I said I’m selling the shipyard. I’ve given it a lot of thought this past month. The heart specialist put it to me bluntly.” He tapped his chest. “It isn’t what it used to be. It sustained a lot of damage, and who knows when it’ll decide to stop on me again. So no matter how much I might have wanted to protest, the fact was that I could either accept it and make my peace with God and enjoy the few years I have left—if in fact they are years—or I could squander the remaining time with a lot of worries.”

He nodded his head at Silas. “I may be a pigheaded fool at times, but this time the good Lord managed to get my attention long enough for me to see what has been staring me in the face for a long time.”

Silas still didn’t understand where the conversation was leading. He felt shocked over Winslow’s revelations about his health and decision to sell the shipyard. He thought about something else. “What about Cherish? She loves the shipyard.”

He nodded. “Yes, that’s so. It’s going to be hard on her.”

He stared at the older man. “You haven’t told her?”

“Not yet. As I said, I’ve been mulling things around in my own head these past few weeks.” He tapped the arms of his chair with his hands. “So, young man, do you want to buy it?”

“Me?”

He nodded calmly, as if he had said the most natural thing in the world.

Silas sat forward. “But that would be impossible.”

“Would it? As I see it, you’ve already paid for it. Twelve hundred dollars cash.”

Silas wiped a hand across his mouth, trying to absorb what Winslow was telling him.

“Silas, the Lord opened my eyes to the truth. You’re like the son I never had, the one I always wished for. I’m sorry for not seeing that sooner, for treating you like a hired hand for so many years instead of the most talented boatbuilder I’ve ever seen at work in all my years in the business.

“My daughter tried to tell me many a time. She’d get angry at me, but that only made me more adamant in not seeing the talent in you.”

Silas stood, unable to sit any longer. He couldn’t fathom the words coming out of Winslow’s mouth. “I’m sorry, sir, I don’t understand. I can’t—”

“I know this is probably a little abrupt for you.” The older man’s tone was gentle. “You think about it. I know the shipyard needs someone with a fresh vision. I think you’re that man. Maybe it will no longer be a yard for building sailing ships. Maybe you’ll make a name for yourself building yachts for speed and pleasure. In any case, I leave the decision up to you. If you decide you’d rather find work in a bigger yard, I’ll still sell this and repay you your money.”

“But what will you do?”

He shrugged. “I told you. I’m about useless now as far as work goes. Cherish has talked about getting a job teaching in the fall, perhaps. We have this place. We’ll get by.”

Silas shook his head. He couldn’t see Cherish away from her beloved shipyard, much less forced to seek employment.

“Anyway, you give it some thought. If you still want to seek your fortune elsewhere, I’ll understand perfectly. Your savings
will see you on your way to fulfilling that dream you had of owning your own yard. You’ll never know how grateful I am for your help when I most needed it.”

“You don’t have to repay me.”

“I do and I will.” His tone was firm. He rose from his chair. “Anyway, take all the time you need. Now, let’s talk about more agreeable things. Are you going to invite me down to view this yacht you’re building?”

“Of course. Whenever you wish.”

Winslow escorted him to the door. As he stood holding the knob, he focused his keen gaze once more on Silas. “If you still care for that daughter of mine the way you gave evidence to that day I caught the two of you, you have my blessing.”

Of all that he had heard that afternoon, this statement astounded him the most. “Does that mean you wouldn’t object to my asking her to marry me?” He wanted it clearly spelled out.

“I certainly don’t mean anything less.”

“Yes, sir.” The older man held out his hand and slowly Silas took it.

Having Winslow’s blessing and putting his intentions into action proved to be two different things. Cherish appeared as aloof and evasive as a fawn. Whenever he did manage to be in her company, she rarely made eye contact with him—which was so contrary to those clear, direct gazes that used to make him so uncomfortable. Now he craved those looks. What a fool he had been.

Was he too late? Had she met someone in the past month? Had she finally gotten over her girlish infatuation as he’d kept insisting it was?

It certainly wasn’t Winslow’s fault if Silas seemed to make no headway with Cherish. When he wasn’t inviting Silas to dinner, he was asking him to come calling in the evening.