Lilac Spring (12 page)

They ate in silence. When they’d finished, Tobias sat back and gave a long, satisfied burp. “Nothing like bacon and eggs after—” He didn’t finish his sentence. Instead, he got up and rummaged around in another part of the room. He came back with a bottle in one hand and a plug of tobacco in the other. He offered both to Silas, who shook his head.

Tobias poured the rum into his half-filled coffee cup. “Top it off. Gets the blood going,” he explained, settling himself back in his chair and taking a satisfied sip.

Silas got up, the plate held uncertainly in his hand. “Mind if I wash things up?”

The old man waved a hand. “Not at all. Make yourself at home. You can bunk with me if you need a berth.”

Silas hesitated. “Thank you. I—I no longer work at the shipyard.”

“Don’t have to explain nothin’ to me. Many a time I’ve found myself in port, my money stole outta my pocket, waking in a
gutter after a night o’ this.” He lifted the bottle and shook his head. “It’s got me, boy. Can’t live without it.” This time he took a swig directly from the bottle.

Silas wanted to explain he hadn’t been sleeping off a night of drinking and brawling, but he turned away, realizing it didn’t matter what the old man thought. He walked through the clutter on the floor to the counter he took to be the kitchen. The sight that greeted his eyes made him want to stop and give up before starting. Dirty dishes and pans were stacked everywhere. Suddenly the food that had tasted so good moments before threatened to be cast up as he wondered what kind of plate he’d eaten from. He set his plate down gingerly atop some others. Immediately the cat who’d been nosing around came and sniffed it. Judging it appetizing, it lapped up the remaining egg yolk and bacon rind.

“You hungry?” Silas asked, idly petting the skinny cat. He gave the cat more scraps of bacon and set a plate down on the floor. The cat jumped down agilely and continued eating. It was soon joined by two others. Silas gave them some more food.

He found a pot large enough to hold a good quantity of water and took it outside to look for the well. Hot water, he decided. He would start with hot water.

After two days thinking about things as he set about cleaning up the dishes and clearing up a space for himself in the shack, Silas settled on a course of action. He would just have to find work in another shipyard.

It took him a while to accept that, after having been so many years with Winslow. But no matter how he analyzed the situation, Silas could not see Winslow taking him back. Cherish was just too precious to her father.

No, he would just have to start over somewhere else. Silas worked this over in his mind as he cleaned out his boat and put it in order. He came to accept the fact that it was time to move on from Haven’s End and Winslow’s Shipyard as he scrubbed pots and pans and scoured plates and cutlery in hot water. He fought down images of Cherish and thoughts of her
in his arms as he washed dirty linen and hung smelly blankets up on a line in the whipping breeze.

Finally he was able to sleep in fresh sheets and at least know his food was served on clean plates. As for the rest of the shack, he shrugged, surveying the room from the sofa he’d made up as his bed. The sofa had a few holes, where no doubt mice had made their nests at one time. He needn’t fear mice now, as Tobias had at least four cats roaming around the place, and as far as Silas could tell, they lived on whatever they could hunt for themselves.

Tobias’s snores came across the room to Silas. Tobias slept on his back, his nose thrown back as if groping for air. Silas had come to figure out the man’s routine. He rose after a drunken sleep, rummaged around for enough food to sustain him, washed it down with some rum, then after puttering around among his “things” he’d eventually head down to the cove, depending on the time of the tide, and dig some clams, which he’d sell in the village. He’d come back with a fresh bottle of rum and spend the evening nursing it. Silas offered to cook, but Tobias wasn’t too interested in food.

Silas turned over, away from the snoring figure, and faced the grimy sofa. He wondered where it had come from. Once it had been a fine piece of furniture. Silas ran a finger along the curl of a fleur-de-lis pattern on its brocaded surface. Tobias was a scavenger, rarely coming home without something he had “picked up” somewhere, probably out of someone’s rubbish.

Once again Silas fought down the memory of his last moment with Cherish. Where was she now? What had she been doing since he’d left? Had she thought of him at all?

He told himself tomorrow would be different. He’d sail into Hatsfield and begin looking for work. Perhaps some day in the far-off distance, if he managed to earn enough, he could see her again. Better forget that train of thought, he admonished himself. By then she’d be married to Townsend.

He’d left his life savings in his old room, but he figured they were safe for now. He didn’t think anyone would find them, and perhaps he could ask someone he trusted, maybe Cherish—
no, he had to stay away from her—to get them for him some day. Some day. Everything seemed in the far distant future now.

Fighting despair, he turned his mind to a ship’s design. He knew at length it would bring the oblivion of sleep as he calculated length and breadth and sharpness of a hull.

“How’d it go?” Tobias asked from his rickety rocking chair on an equally rickety porch. He held a week-old paper in his hands and worked a plug of tobacco placidly between his gums.

Silas sat on the wooden steps in front of him and faced the cove. “Nothing available.”

“Aw, that’s a shame.” The paper rustled behind Silas. “Well, you can stay as long as you like, you know. Maybe somethin’ll turn up.”

There was silence as he went back to his paper. Silas watched the gulls fly overhead, circling the mudflats in search of carrion. Two days searching for work. He couldn’t understand it. He thought he’d acquired some reputation in all his years with Winslow.

The rocker creaked as Tobias got up. “Well, guess I’ll be goin’ down to do some clammin’. Hey! Why don’t you come along? I got an extra rake here somewheres,” he muttered, going to the back of the porch, where assorted old equipment and tools were heaped up.

Silas was going to refuse, but then reconsidered. Why not earn some money instead of sitting around thinking?

The work proved hard and backbreaking—bending over at a ninety-degree angle for several hours, shoving the rake into the hard clay mud without gouging the clams, then heaving it forward to search for clams while avoiding the razor-sharp broken shells and mud worms.

He straightened to ease his sore back and spotted Tobias off in the distance. He marveled how the scrawny man could do this almost every day sustained on rum and a few victuals. There were a few other clammers along the cove at a good distance from him.

He turned his eyes shoreward. Suddenly he squinted. It couldn’t be. Cherish! His heart began to thump at the mere
sight of her, the way she shaded her eyes and surveyed the shoreline from above and her light-colored skirt blew against her legs in the breeze. He could tell the moment she spotted him and began heading down from the shack, making her way onto the beach.

He fought down the longing to see her. It would be futile and only lead to more frustration. He stood motionless, hoping she’d give up and go home. But no, she began walking resolutely toward him, lugging a satchel in one hand.

Disgusted for feeling weak-kneed at the very sight of her—wasn’t she the cause of all his present problems?—he bent back to digging.

He could feel her eyes on him, but he refused to look up.

Finally she reached him. “Hello, Silas.”

He straightened. She was beautiful, as fresh as a sea breeze with her white dress sprinkled with a pattern of forget-me-nots. Her two hands clutched the satchel in front of her.

“What do you have there?” he asked, indicating the bag with a jut of his chin.

Her smile disappeared at his lack of greeting. “I brought some of your things. I—I…” She swallowed. “I asked Ezra to pack up what he thought you’d need.”

Silas felt ashamed at his rudeness. “Thanks. You shouldn’t have carried it all the way out here.” He glanced down at his muddy hands. “Let me rinse off my hands.”

She shook her head. “That’s all right. I’ll take it back up to the beach.”

“You shouldn’t have come out here.”

She swallowed. “I was worried about you.”

“It’s a little late for that.”

“I’m sorry about Papa. He shouldn’t have treated you so.”

He smiled mirthlessly. “You mean
we
shouldn’t have behaved the way we did.”

“I’m not ashamed of our kiss. Are you?”

He looked away from her, afraid he’d lose his resolution in those smoky-blue eyes. He fixed his gaze on the gray mud covering his boots, reminding himself that he was bending over
these flats and not working on boats because he’d forgotten everything but his feelings for her.

“It was a foolish thing to do.”

“Silas, how can you say that?” Her voice was breathless.

“Because I’m standing here, knee-deep in mud, and my life—” he waved the clam rake shoreward, unable to speak for a moment “—is over there in a shipyard. And because of one instant of—of—insanity, I lost it all!” He glared at her, as angry at her as at himself.

Her eyes beseeched him. He wanted to reach for her and reassure her that everything was going to be all right, but he couldn’t. Too much of his dream had been destroyed, and whether she liked it or not, she was the cause of it.

“Is that what you think our kiss was? Insanity?”

“What else was it? Are you satisfied your little experiment proved true? Just dangle the prize in front of Silas and see how he’ll react?” He wanted to hurt her, hating himself for finding her irresistible even now, in her summer frock, her lips pressed together as if to keep from crying. But he couldn’t stop himself. “Well, you proved it. I’m a man like all those others you left strewn across Europe. I’m not immune to your charms. You had to prove you could jerk my string and I’d react. You snapped your finger and Silas came to heel, just like your father.

“Except he’s not so easy as you imagined. He’s not going to give in to your whims this time, is he?”

She shook her head at him as she backed away. “That’s not fair!” she whispered. “I was so worried about you when I found out Papa had dismissed you. I looked everywhere for you, but no one knew where you’d gone. Why didn’t you let me know?”

He kicked at a barnacle-encrusted stone at his feet, not wanting her worry or concern. He didn’t want to know about her feelings. He wanted to hold on to his anger at her thoughtlessness. “Let you know? You mean, go up to your house and knock on your door like any proper young suitor? Like Warren Townsend?”

She shook her head. “You could have let Ezra know.”

“As if I knew where I was going. Do you think I had a plan all mapped out? If Winslow fires you, you can go to old drunk Tobias and beg a room. Give me that,” he said impatiently, reaching for the bag. “You shouldn’t be carrying that heavy thing. You’re getting yourself all muddy out here.”

Without bothering to give her a backward glance, he headed back to the beach, despising himself for his deliberately long stride, but all his instincts for self-preservation told him to get away from her. Make her hate you, he told himself. Get her over her infatuation. Let her see who you really are.

She ran to catch up with him. “What do I care about a bit of mud? It’ll wash off.”

He glanced back at her. She had her skirts hiked up in one hand. It was a long walk back to the beach over the slippery, pockmarked mud strewn with broken shells and sea-filled holes left by the clam diggers.

They finally reached the pebbly shoreline. He set the satchel down and stood waiting for Cherish to reach him. “Look, thanks for my things, but you shouldn’t have come. Your father made it plain he doesn’t want me anywhere near you.”

“Papa will get over his silly notions.”

“Will he?”

“Of course he will. You let me worry about Papa.” When he said nothing, but continued looking at her skeptically, she asked curiously, “What’s it like at Tobias’s?”

“Let’s just say it’s not your aunt Phoebe’s.”

She giggled. “I’ve missed you.”

He wanted to reach for her. His hand curled on the clam rake. Hadn’t he done enough damage? But still the hunger gnawed at him and he felt engulfed by a deeper, greater, more terrifying need—to be held and cherished by her.

He looked away. “I—I better get back to the flats.”

“What will you do now?”

He knew what she meant—the future. “Look for work.”

“In another shipyard?”

He grimaced. “No one is hiring. I’ll have to try farther than Hatsfield.” The thought only intensified his gloom. The cold
reception he’d gotten at the Hatsfield shipyards had made him feel worthless.

“Then I shall have to find a way there, as well,” she said quietly. “Perhaps as a schoolteacher or shop clerk.”

“Don’t be silly. You can’t just leave your father, your home….”

“Can’t I?” She took a step toward him. Before he could stop her, she had leaned forward, placing her hands on his shoulders.

“Cherish.” He motioned with his hands. “You’ll get yourself full of mud.”

“I told you, Silas, it’ll wash off.” She placed a quick, soft kiss on his lips.

“Don’t, Cherish. This isn’t a game.”

She pulled away from him, her eyes frosty. “How dare you? I’m not playing a game!”

When he said nothing, but stood there with jaw and fists clenched, fighting the desire that rose up in him, she told him in a quiet, sure voice, “Some day you’re going to kiss me back, Silas van der Zee.” Then she turned and left him.

If I kiss you back, I won’t be able to stop,
he told her departing back.

C
herish had no sooner walked in the front door than Celia came running out to meet her.

“Where have you been? Your aunt’s been looking for you everywhere. Your father—” The woman clutched Cherish’s arm.

“What is it? What’s wrong with Papa?”

“He’s collapsed.”

“No! What happened?” Cherish grabbed Celia as if she could shake the information out of her.

“We don’t know. He’d just had his dinner and gone to read his paper when we both heard it, your aunt and I—a big crash, like something had fallen. We ran into the parlor and there he lay on the floor, the potted plant and its stand knocked over. We got Jacob to ride over to get Doc Turner. He’s up there with him now. You’d better go up to him. He’s been asking for you.”

Cherish didn’t wait for any more. She took the stairs two at a time and stopped only when she got to her father’s room. Then she hesitated, afraid of what she’d find on the other side of the door. She gave a tentative knock.

Her aunt opened the door. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re back. Celia’s told you what happened?” As she spoke she ushered Cher
ish into the room, motioning with a finger for quiet. “Your father seems very agitated. Try to calm him. The doctor says he mustn’t be disturbed on any account.”

Before her aunt could explain any further, Cherish reached her father’s large four-poster bed. He lay in the middle, seeming shrunken in its midst. Cherish closed her eyes.
Oh, dear God, let him be all right. Don’t take him from us. Help me, help me, Jesus, to be strong.

Dr. Turner turned from where he had been bending over her father. “Good, there you are, Cherish. Your father wants you. Come.” Seeing her hesitation, he gave her a smile and took one hand in his, giving it a pat. “That’s a girl. Just let your papa know you’re here.”

He moved away from the bed, leaving space for Cherish. She bent forward, reaching for her father’s hand, which lay on the coverlet. “Papa.”

He opened his eyes and seeing her, blinked at her a few times. “Cherish… I don’t know how much time I have.” The words came out in a hoarse whisper.

“Shh, Papa, don’t talk like that.”

Her attempts to soothe him only agitated him. “You’ve got to find Silas for me.” His dark eyes implored her. “Promise me you’ll bring him here as soon as you find him.”

“Of course, Papa.” She felt her heart lift, thinking her father meant to make everything right with Silas once again. “I’ll find him for you right away. How are you feeling, Papa?”

Dr. Turner touched her lightly on the shoulder. “He mustn’t exert himself talking anymore. Come, child. Let him sleep. I’ve given him a sedative.”

As she was turning away, her father called out one last time, “Don’t forget. Bring me Silas…must talk to him.”

“I will, Papa. I’ll be right back with him. I promise.”

Once in the corridor, she turned to the doctor. “What happened? Papa was fine.”

“By all indications he’s suffered an infarction of the heart, caused by a thrombosis.” At her look of utter incomprehension, he clarified. “His heart hasn’t received sufficient air, due to a
blockage somewhere. It’s very serious, resulting in damage to his heart. It’s very weak right now.”

“But how? Why?” whispered Cherish, unable to understand what the doctor was telling her.

“We don’t know. All we know is it’s not uncommon in a man your father’s age. He needs complete bed rest and absolutely no agitation. His heart must be given time to heal. It will never regain what it has lost, but can, God willing, with rest and quiet, continue functioning.

“He seems overwrought about something. He keeps asking for Silas. We must reassure your father in this or he’ll work himself up to another—”

“No!” Cherish refused to have the doctor even say it. “I’m going to get Silas.”

“Where is he?” Aunt Phoebe asked her sharply. “No one seems to have seen him for a few days.”

“He’s staying with Tobias Tibbetts.”

“What?” She stared at Cherish.

“That’s right. He had nowhere else to go. I spoke to him today. I’m going to fetch him now.”

“Let Jacob go. You’re too distraught.”

She shook her head, already walking away. “No, I’m going. I’ll take the horse and buggy.”

She rode over the rutted, dusty roads until she once again reached the cove. It was a couple of miles out of the village, an isolated, lonely spot. Silas and Tobias had just returned from the beach and were washing off at the well.

Silas saw her and immediately came to her. “Cherish, what are you doing here? I thought I made it clear—”

Before he could admonish her further, she said, “It’s Papa! He’s collapsed. It’s his heart. Dr. Turner has been to see him. But he’s asking for you. Papa has been asking for
you.
Please come, Silas! He needs to say something to you. He thinks he might—” Her voice broke. “He thinks he might d-die.”

Silas didn’t wait for any more explanation. “I’ll come with you. Don’t worry, Cherish. He’ll be all right.”

She sniffed. “How do you know?”

He gave her a reassuring smile. “He’s too angry at me, for one thing. You’ll see.”

She smiled through her tears.

He took her by the hand and led her to the buggy. During the ride back she told him everything she knew. He reassured her again as she alternated between despair at the memory of her father lying in the bed and comfort at the feel of Silas’s arm against hers and his soft voice encouraging her.

When they returned to the house, the doctor had left. Aunt Phoebe led them up to the bedroom. “He’s still restless. Keeps asking for you, Silas. You’d better make your peace with him.”

She paused at the door before opening it. “Whatever you do, don’t say anything to disturb him further.”

She held Cherish back when she began to follow Silas. “This is between the two of them. You’d best let them be.”

“But I must know. Maybe Papa will ask Silas’s forgiveness for what he did to him.”

The door clicked shut firmly behind Silas. “If so, you’ll find out soon enough. Come along and clean yourself up. You can sit with your father a while when Silas comes out.”

Silas entered the dim room and headed immediately for the bed that dominated it. He stood for a moment silently observing the man whose eyes remained closed, wondering what he should do. Winslow looked deathly pale.

Silas cleared his throat softly. Winslow stirred immediately. “Cherish, did you find him?” he asked, but stopped as soon as he opened his eyes.

“Silas” was all he said for a long time.

“Yes, sir,” Silas answered, shifting from one leg to the other, feeling awkward before this man who had known him since he was an adolescent and who had witnessed his strong feelings toward his daughter.

“Come here, boy.” His words came out with an effort. Silas immediately edged closer. The older man’s breathing was the only sound in the room. It was heavy going in and let out in
an exhausted gust as if it was too much effort to keep it in his lungs. “Come closer.”

Silas sat on the chair set next to the bed. “What is it, sir? I came as soon as I heard.”

Winslow had closed his eyes again. Now he tapped at his chest. “The old heart is giving way at last.”

“You’ll get better. You’ll see. You just have to rest.” He felt he was mouthing a bunch of platitudes he didn’t know whether he believed himself.

“I don’t know…it’s up to my Maker.” Another moment of labored breathing passed. “All I know is I don’t want to face Him without making a clean breast of things.”

Silas waited, wondering what the older man had to say to him. Was he going to apologize for throwing him out? But the man’s next words surprised him.

“You try to…get any work at another shipyard?”

He flushed, remembering the humiliating experience. “Yes.”

“Any luck?”

“No, sir.”

“I didn’t think so.”

Silas frowned. “Why not?”

Winslow opened his eyes, regarding him silently. “I went…to see the owners in Hatsfield after…I threw you out. I wanted to make sure you…couldn’t find any work there.”

Silas stared at him, too shocked to be outraged.

“I made enough insinuations about your character to…convince…you weren’t trustworthy.” He reclosed his eyes as if gathering strength. “I didn’t bring Cherish into it at all. Just dropped…enough hints…unscrupulous character, out to steal a person’s designs and…customers…start your own business…moment person’s back was turned.” The effort to speak had cost him and he fell silent.

Silas could feel the blood pounding between his ears. After all those years of giving Winslow his best—this was how the man repaid him. He wanted to get up and leave—leave his presence, his house, Haven’s End altogether.

As if reading his mind, Winslow said, his words more labored, “Don’t know…how long…got on this earth. Want to ask…pardon. Know I did wrong. Can…you…forgive me?”

Silas looked away from the man’s pale face. He couldn’t shut his ears, however, to his slow, ponderous breathing, or keep the sight of the man’s searching hand from the edge of his vision.

Winslow’s hand finally found his arm and clutched it. “You’ve got…to forgive me. I wronged you. I repent of it, do you hear? If God gives me leave…make it good. I’ll go to those shipyards and take back everything I said.”

Silas felt the bitterness tighten his heart. Empty promises, he thought. By the looks of it, Winslow wouldn’t last the night. And if he did by chance recover, what good would his recanting do? The damage had been done. Those shipyard owners would be more suspicious than ever, asking themselves why Winslow would get rid of him and then be trying to get a competitor to hire him.

Even more telling was the fact that Winslow—even on his deathbed—was not ready to take him back.

Silas stood, unable to sit near the man a minute longer, but the man’s hand was wrapped around his wrist.

Winslow’s agitation increased. “Silas, please, so sorry. Shouldn’t have done it….”

Silas was moved, despite himself, by the man’s condition. Winslow would most likely be facing eternity soon. Silas leaned over the bed and said as convincingly as he could, “It’s all right, Mr. Winslow. I—I—” The words stuck in his throat. “I forgive you.”

Strangely enough, once he uttered the words, Silas felt a release. He straightened again and repeated, “Don’t trouble yourself. It’s all right. I forgive you.”

“Thank you, Silas. Thank you.” The man relaxed. His fingers fell still.

When Silas exited the bedroom, the first person he saw was Cherish. His heart twisted within him at the sight of her pale face, waiting for an encouraging verdict from him. One hand
of hers clutched a handkerchief, which must have been sodden, judging by her tear-filled eyes.

She was too hesitant to approach him, too afraid of what he might say about her father’s condition. Hope warred with fear in her eyes. He tried to smile as he stepped toward her.

As he neared her, it was as if she couldn’t hold back any longer. “I did this to him, didn’t I?” she whimpered.

He thought of nothing else then but of comforting her. He took another step toward her, bridging the space between them, and took her in his arms. “No, no, you didn’t,” he murmured against her hair as she cried into his chest. He cradled her, one hand cupped against her hair.

“It’s going to be all right. Everything’s going to be all right,” he whispered softly against her hair, his hand smoothing it. A part of him noted that he’d come full circle, back to his old role of big brother, adviser, friend—the one who bore the ultimate responsibility.

Silas breathed in the lilac scent of her hair, knowing it would haunt him that night and for the nights to come.

“Did Papa…did Papa say anything about us?” she managed to ask between sniffles.

He swallowed, finally answering, “No. He just wanted to ask my forgiveness for having fired me. That’s all.”

He could feel her slump against him. “Oh. I’m glad about that. But…you don’t think it means he might have reconsidered things about us?”

Silas gently drew Cherish from him, although he kept hold of her. He peered into her eyes, knowing he must make her understand, without hurting her further. “I don’t know. What I do know is that he mustn’t be disturbed in any way. As the doctor said, he needs absolute peace and quiet.”

She nodded like an obedient child. He drew her into his arms again, unable to stop himself from indulging one more time in the very feel and scent of her, before he had to leave her.