Lilac Spring (18 page)

“Why then do I sometimes have the sneaking suspicion all my ‘accomplishments’ are, as Isaiah said, ‘filthy rags’?”

They continued washing and drying in silence. Silas would never have supposed Cherish would have doubts about her Christian walk.

As he set the last pot facedown to dry, he said with a laugh, “I never realized what a Sunday dinner entailed for four people. I thought these dishes would never end.” He glanced at the cleared-off counters and tabletops. “It seemed as if you used every dish in the pantry.”

“It certainly looked liked it, especially when you first walked in this morning.” Her expression fell. “So much work for such a poor result. I’m sorry for the quality of the cooking.”

She stood so close he could have touched her. “Don’t be. Believe me, it rated far better than what I make for myself when I come home in the evenings and face Tobias’s kitchen. Compared to that, this was the best chicken and mashed potatoes I’ve tasted in my life. And let’s not forget the coffee. You heard Jacob. Best coffee he ever drank, and he wouldn’t lie to you.”

“Don’t, Silas, or you’ll make me do something stupid like cry. It seems all I do these days.” Before he could determine if she really meant that, she reached across him and took the soapy dishrag from his hand. “Give me that,” she said in a no-nonsense tone, wringing out the rag. “I’ve got to wipe off the table.”

She turned from him and began scrubbing off the worktable in the center of the kitchen.

Silas watched her vigorous movements as she leaned across the table. Something was different in her attitude toward him. Something had changed subtly, although he wasn’t quite sure what it was. It was as if she had taken a step back and there was a small gulf between them. This wasn’t the same girl who had teased him with her proximity, who had approached him and given herself to him fearlessly and wholeheartedly.

He tried to dismiss the sense of disappointment that hit him, and turned back to the dishpan. If she had withdrawn, it was for the best. There could be no other way.

Silas carried the dishpan out to the backyard to empty it. When he returned to the kitchen, Cherish was hanging out the towels to dry. The kitchen looked as shipshape as when Mrs. Sullivan was home.

“Your aunt Phoebe will approve,” he told her.

She smiled. “I believe so. She’ll be back this evening.”

“Well, I guess I’ll go up and see your father.”

“Maybe I should go up first and tell him you’re here.”

“No, that’s all right. I’ll face him alone,” he said with a slight grin.

There was understanding in her eyes. “Let me know what he says.”

“Sure.”

Although there was nothing more to say, neither seemed inclined to move out of the kitchen. Finally Silas took a deep breath and headed toward the opposite doorway. “If I’m not down in an hour, you can send a search party.”

“I’ll come myself.”

They regarded each other one last time, she standing in the middle of the kitchen, he on the threshold of the dining room. He remembered his dream afresh, how much she’d needed him.

He half raised a hand. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

He left her nodding.

Silas knocked softly on the doorjamb. Winslow, who was sitting up in his bed, looked toward him. An expression of sur
prise crossed his features, but then to Silas’s relief, they softened into a smile.

“Come in, Silas, come in. Draw up a chair. Come to chat with an old invalid?”

Silas set the chair beside the bed and sat down. “Hello, Mr. Winslow. I just wanted to stop by and visit a bit. I didn’t have much of a chance to this morning.”

“I’m glad you came by. I’m getting fed up with being cooped up in here. Old Doc Turner has confined me here like a prisoner, but he’s promised if I follow his orders I may be up by the Fourth.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Silas told him. “You’re looking better than you did the other day.”

He grinned in understanding. “Had one foot in the grave the day you saw me. I feel the Lord has spared me, but not without a warning.” He tapped his chest. “We’re all just a heartbeat away from death, and I don’t think I’m going to forget that too easily.”

“No, sir.”

They fell silent. Silas didn’t know how to bring up the shipyard. Would Winslow think he was after his old job? Would he think he was trying to insinuate himself into his good graces…and thereby into his daughter’s? Silas didn’t want anyone questioning his motives—he was questioning them too much himself. He had half a mind to say nothing and head to Calais, leaving Haven’s End for good.

But something kept him rooted to the chair.

“I’ve had you on my mind.”

Winslow’s words startled Silas. “You have?”

The older man nodded. “That’s why I’m glad you came by. I’ve been meaning to send Jacob to fetch you. Nobody has given me news of you. What have you been doing,” he asked, looking away from Silas and focusing on the bedspread, “since I asked you to leave the shipyard?”

“This and that.” Why didn’t he tell him where he was? Shame once again stilled his tongue.

“You must have a little saved up.” Winslow’s tone revealed relief that things were all right with Silas.

“Yes, sir. A little.”

“That’s good, that’s good.” He worked at a thread in the bedspread with his fingertips. “I wanted to apologize once again for…losing my temper with you the other day. I shouldn’t have gone to Hatsfield to the shipyards the way I did. I told you I’d make it up to you…as soon as I’m up from this confounded bed.” His hands gripped the bedclothes in fists.

“Don’t upset yourself, Mr. Winslow. I told you I’m fine for now. I’ve got some savings, as you imagined.” Silas sat forward in his chair, clearing his throat. “I—I came by today to see if you needed any help at the shipyard…just until you’re up and about again.”

Instead of taking offense at his suggestion, Mr. Winslow’s face broke into a smile. “You don’t know how relieved I am to hear you. It’s precisely what I wanted to see you about.”

Silas felt hope spring in his breast. “It is?”

“Yes. I know I have no right to ask you this, but would you consider coming by for a few hours a day and seeing how the men are doing on the schooner? I’d pay you for your services.”

Winslow wasn’t asking to take him back on a full-time basis. Silas swallowed his disappointment. Wasn’t this part-time arrangement precisely what he’d come to offer himself? “Yes, I’d be glad to. I’d come by after supper. You don’t have to pay me,” he added. He would take no more of Winslow’s money. Whatever he was doing was for Cherish’s sake alone.

“Oh, Silas, of course I’ll pay you. You need to be earning something. You can’t live on air.” He gave a nervous chuckle as if all the talk of money were making him uncomfortable.

Silas cleared his throat, deciding he might as well be frank about everything. “I’ve gotten a job down in the harbor in the meantime, so I’m getting by all right. That’s why I can’t spare any time on the shipyard until the evenings.”

“Yes, I understand. Where are you working, if you don’t mind my asking?”

Silas felt his ears reddening. He kept his gaze fixed on Winslow’s hands, which had ceased their restless movement over the bedspread. “At the cannery.”

“I see.”

“It’s just temporary,” put in Silas hastily. “I just didn’t want to use up my savings. I’m…I’m thinking of applying at the shipyard up in Calais.” There, he’d voiced it aloud, committing himself to that course of action.

Winslow nodded in satisfaction. “They’ve got quite a big operation up there. Much bigger than ours here.”

Once again Silas had to swallow a bitter sense of how little his years of service meant to Winslow. “Well, I haven’t gone up there yet. I don’t have a lot of free time now.”

“No, of course not.” Winslow coughed. “But I’ll give you a good recommendation when you get ready to go.” He had the grace to look embarrassed as he spoke the words.

“I won’t leave until you’re back on your feet.”

“I appreciate that. I’d hate to lose you…but I understand.” He cracked a smile. “Like my nephew Henry. You’re young and ambitious…you’ve got talent.”

The words hit Silas like a fresh blow. Winslow no longer even spoke as if he’d fired him. He seemed to have convinced himself Silas had gone of his own free will. All traces of his fourteen years of service at Winslow’s Shipyard were absorbed into the past like an incoming wave onto the sand.

A
fter a busy afternoon putting things to rights at the boat shop, Cherish returned to the house to a second visit from Warren Townsend.

After Cherish showed him up to her father’s room, the three sat around as Tom Winslow told Warren all the particulars of his heart failure. “I’ve always been as strong as a horse. Just goes to show you, you never know what’s around the corner.” He sighed. “Makes me all the more eager to see my only child married and settled down with someone who can take better care of her than I can.”

“Oh, Papa, I don’t need anyone to take care of me!” she said, mortified at the turn in the conversation.

“Your father’s right. It’s only natural he wants to see you settled down.”

“Well, for the moment I’m not going anywhere, since I’m his nurse,” she said with a false laugh, wanting to steer the conversation elsewhere.

“How’s your father, Warren?” her father asked.

“He’s fine, sir. He wanted to come by himself, but didn’t want to overwhelm you with visitors. He asked to let him know how soon he can come by to visit you himself.”

“Tell him to come at his earliest convenience. I’m feeling fitter every day, and the doctor says I’ll soon be sitting up in a chair, and walking around by the Fourth if I continue as I have been.”

“That’s wonderful news. I’m sure my father will come by tomorrow.”

“You must stay for supper.” He turned to Cherish. “Mustn’t he? We can’t let him return all the way to Hatsfield without at least a simple meal, can we, my dear?”

“No, Papa, of course not,” she replied, trying to muster up her enthusiasm. She knew what her father was doing, and yet she felt less and less able to counter his maneuverings. The doctor’s warnings rang too forcefully in her ears. What could she do to keep from giving Warren a false impression? She didn’t want to lead him on.

Warren sat with her on the front veranda afterward.

“You know, your father is right. You need someone to look after you.”

“I have my father and my aunt Phoebe. Besides, as I said, I’m too old to need looking after.”

“I didn’t mean to imply you couldn’t look after yourself.” He leaned forward in the wicker chair. “I guess I think most women your age want to settle down and have a home of their own. I know my own sister would like that.”

“Forgive me if I snapped at you. I don’t mean I don’t want that some day. It just seems as if my father has been trying to marry me off as soon as I came home this summer.”

“I understand. It reminds me of my father and all the advice he gives me about running the business.”

They smiled at each other. She raised her glass of lemonade to him. “Here’s to overly officious fathers—good health and long life to them.”

He joined her in the toast.

“By the way, I was thinking of stopping by the boatyard to see Silas.”

Oh, no. What was she going to tell him?

“My father was quite impressed with him.” He looked down at his lemonade. “I know my sister was, too.”

“Annalise?” she asked, her voice faltering. She had hoped absence, in this case, didn’t make the heart grow fonder.

“Yes,” he answered. “I know I shouldn’t say anything about this. I respect her feelings, but I sense I can confide in you. She considers you a friend. I know in the short time they spent together, Annalise grew fond of Mr. van der Zee. I’ve never seen her form any sort of attachment to any young gentleman. She’s been too much afraid of them to do so.”

He cleared his throat, as if the subject embarrassed him. “I just wanted to give my sister an opportunity to meet this young man again to see if her first impressions have held. She’d never put herself forward in any way.”

Cherish cringed, remembering her own behavior. She pressed her lips together, trying to figure out what to say.

“Please forgive me if I sound like some matchmaker. I’ve never spoken so on my sister’s behalf. I was just impressed with the young man myself, and well, I love my sister….” His voice trailed off.

Her heart went out to Annalise. How could she explain to her brother that perhaps Silas’s heart was not free? Even though Silas had rejected her, Cherish felt the moment had come to be honest with Warren about her own love for Silas. She cleared her throat, ready to begin.

Warren interrupted her with a chuckle. “I know my father was impressed with him. If he ever decides to leave the shipyard, he could get a job at our company. You know Father is thinking of opening his own shipyard.”

Cherish stared at him, the words dying on her lips.

“Silas is no longer at Papa’s shipyard,” she said softly, watching Warren’s reaction.

“He’s not? Why ever not?”

She moistened her lips. “Papa and he had a—misunderstanding. Silas left,” she ended, leaving the details deliberately vague.

“It must have been pretty serious to cause Silas to leave. Hasn’t he been with your father since he apprenticed with him?”

“Yes, but Papa has never given him the credit he deserves.
He could go far…at another shipyard,” she ended, watching to see if Warren would take the hint.

He nodded. “I know Father would snatch him up if he knew.”

“Silas van der Zee is a fine man. Your father would be privileged to have him. And…any woman would be blessed to have his regard.” She looked down at her lemonade, astonished at the calmness of her tone. They little reflected what it cost her to say the words. “He’s still in Haven’s End, although I don’t know for how much longer. He has spoken of getting work up at the Calais shipyard.”

“Well, I’m sure I should see him before he does that. Your father won’t mind?”

“No, Papa has a high regard for him, despite their differences.” She hesitated. How could she deny Silas the opportunity that might present itself through the Townsends? She fingered the sweat beads on her glass, deliberating. She would
not
expose Silas to Warren at the cannery. Memories of her own visit still pained her. She didn’t know if Silas would be at the boat shop that evening. Would Silas be angry if she sent Warren over to see him at Tobias’s?

“You may find him after supper at a little place beyond the harbor, where he is staying temporarily,” she finally said, and explained the way to Tobias’s shack.

When Warren left, Cherish stood, hugging herself as she looked across the lawn. The scent of lilacs drifted on the warm breeze.

How it hurt her to see Silas as he was now, his dream shattered, and know she was at fault. She hoped her words to Warren today would begin to make up for all the misfortune she had brought to Silas.

Tobias and Silas had just finished their supper when they heard a knock.

“Wonder who in tarnation is coming by now?” mumbled Tobias, rising to make his slow way to the door.

“Who’re you?” he asked the tall gentleman standing at the door.

“I’m Warren Townsend. I was wondering if this is where Mr. Silas van der Zee resides.”

Silas turned his head quickly from the dirty dishes in the sink. Wiping his hands on a rag, he made his way to the door.

“Hello. You’re looking for me?” he asked doubtfully.

“Yes,” he answered with a relieved smile, and held out his hand. “I must say, I feel I’ve ridden the full length of Haven’s End in search of you.”

“You know this young fellow?” Tobias asked.

“Yes. He’s a…friend of Tom Winslow’s. Warren, may I present Tobias Tibbetts?”

“Much obliged,” Tobias mumbled, taking the young man’s smooth hand in his gnarled brown one. “Well, I got to see about something. I’ll leave you two to whatever it is you want,” he added, heading out the door.

After he’d left, Silas stood awkwardly. Should he invite Townsend in, or should he step outside with him? He looked at the young man’s clean, pressed suit and hesitated. Before he could decide, Warren asked, “May I come in?”

“Yes, of course.”

The place looked even worse as Silas imagined it through Townsend’s eyes. He followed him to the only upright chairs in the room, the ones he and Tobias had just vacated.

“Have a seat,” Silas offered, then too late noticed the chair held a filthy rag dropped by Tobias.

Before Silas could remove it, Townsend picked it off the chair. Silas reached over and took it from him. “Sorry about that.” He threw it atop a pile of old newspapers. “Can I offer you some coffee?”

“No, thank you.”

“I heard you were no longer with Winslow,” Townsend began after they both sat down.

Silas looked down at the paint-chipped table. “No.”

“Miss Winslow has spoken very highly of you.”

At the name Silas looked up immediately, but seeing nothing personal in the other man’s reference, he averted his gaze once again.

“My father, too, had a very favorable impression of you.”

“Well, I appreciate the praise, but—”

“Please don’t take offense.” After a moment he said, “My sister sends you her best regards.”

Silas could feel the heat stealing into his face and felt immediately on the defensive. “Give her my best,” he answered stiffly.

Warren cleared his throat. “She has missed you.”

Silas shifted in his chair, growing more and more uncomfortable on the wooden seat. What was Townsend driving at? “Miss Townsend is a very nice person,” he said quietly.

“Annalise is a very special person. You might not have been in her company long enough to appreciate this, but she is very kindhearted. She has a great sense of humor, and she has received a very good education.”

“Yes, I could see that. Please give her my very best regards,” he repeated, and felt foolish that he could think of nothing else to say.

Townsend gave a wry laugh. “I guess I’m here sort of as the protective older brother, trying to gauge if perhaps you reciprocate any of my sister’s sentiments.”

Silas looked at the other man, his mind reeling. What had been said or done by him to give this man the idea that he was interested in his sister? “Excuse me, but I think you’re under a false impression. I scarcely know your sister. We met a few times. Your family was gracious enough to have me over for a weekend. I think your sister is a fine young lady—I think very highly of her—but I don’t feel the kind of things I imagine a man should feel toward a woman he is thinking of courting.” Did he himself know what they were? Were they the fireworks going off in his heart at the mere touch of Cherish’s fingers on his skin?

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Warren said. “I know my sister will be even sorrier.” He stood. “Forgive my having taken up your time.”

Silas waved away the apology. “There’s no need to. Miss Townsend is fortunate to have a brother like you.”

“I don’t know about that.”

Silas rose, as well. “I’m sorry you wasted your time coming all the way out here.”

He grinned faintly. “I never call it a waste of time to come out to Haven’s End.”

Silas felt a pang, knowing what brought Townsend to Haven’s End. Had he already been to see Cherish? Of course he had; how else would he have known where to find him? Silas had heard from Jacob how solicitous Warren Townsend had been since Winslow’s illness, how he’d dined with the Winslow family. The knowledge was just another bitter reminder of the world Cherish belonged to.

“My father has a high regard for you,” Townsend said as Silas walked him to the door. “Even though he only talked with you that weekend, he is a good judge of character and ability. He thinks you have a bright future under the right employer.”

Silas said nothing.

“When he puts his eye on someone, to get them he’ll give them whatever they want.” His green eyes met Silas’s.

“You can write your own ticket, Silas, if you ever decide your feelings for Annalise are more than just friendly. My father would set you up in your own shipyard.” He paused. “I wouldn’t be telling you these things if I didn’t regard you highly myself. I love my sister too much.”

Silas stood still. Townsend would give Silas his own shipyard in exchange for wooing and wedding his daughter.

His dream was being dangled right there before his eyes. For a crazy moment he had an inkling of what Jesus had gone through when the devil had offered Him the world if only He’d bow down and worship him, but he dismissed the image, feeling blasphemous to compare himself to the Son of God.

But the image persisted. What was the price of this tempting offer?

His soul. The word flashed quickly into his mind before he again waved away the thought.

“Did you hear me? What do you think?” Townsend asked him quietly.

Silas shook his head as if to wake himself from a dream. “Your father is very generous.”

“My father would do anything for his children. My sister is very special.”

“I know she is,” Silas replied.

“You don’t have to give me an answer right this minute.”

“Mr. Townsend,” he said formally, knowing the answer was going to cause pain to them both, “I’m sorry. I wish I did feel something more than respect and admiration for your sister.”

“Those are noble feelings. In time they could deepen.”

Not when the image of another one is engraved on your very soul.
Aloud he said, “But not enough. Please tell your father that I appreciate his offer, but I’m fine where I am for now.”

“Fine being a mere hand on a shipyard?” he asked ironically. “But you don’t even have that now, do you?”

Silas’s jaw tightened at the pitying look in the other man’s eyes.

“My father investigates those he takes an interest in. He knows your fine reputation among builders. He’s talked with people who own the ships you’ve labored over.

“How long do you want to keep building the ships others design? Follow orders, cut and nail and sand and paint? Don’t you have a dream of putting your own ideas on paper and seeing them take shape?”

The gentleman’s soft words drove into him like spikes into planks, each one hitting its mark.

“As I said, you don’t have to make a decision right away.” Townsend set the low bowler hat back on his head. “But don’t wait too long. Once you say no, my father won’t renew the offer.”

Silas swallowed and nodded.

The other, as if understanding his turmoil, said, “You’re a good man, Silas, an honorable one. I’ll be sorry if you turn my father down. But if you do, will you do me a personal favor? Will you come by and see Annalise some day? Sort of as a goodbye? She’ll never know I spoke with you,” he added.