Lilac Spring

by Ruth Axtell Morren

  Cherish awoke the next morning late. Turning from the window, its shade unsuccessfully hiding the beautiful spring day and sound of birdsong, she burrowed farther into her pillow.

  How she wished she could stay out of sight all day.

  She groaned, remembering her unwanted guests. Like her Worth creation, which now lay in a crumpled heap on the floor in her line of vision, they intruded where they were not wanted. Warren and Annalise Townsend were still under her roof, and she was their hostess.

  She stared at the wallpaper before her, reliving the fiasco of last night. Oh, Lord, why do I have to go down and pretend everything is all right? They ruined everything last night. It was my party and I had everything planned. I’ve waited so long for Silas. All I wanted was to dance with him!

  Her lips trembled and her eyes welled up with tears, the way they had all night as she’d tossed and turned.

  It was almost as if Silas had deliberately avoided her. She’d never seen him so elusive. If he wasn’t talking in such a chummy manner to little miss whey-faced Townsend, he was nowhere to be seen. She couldn’t understand it.

  She’d had to swallow her anger and disappointment and pretend everything was just fine. When they’d finished eating and gone back inside as another waltz started up, she’d turned to him and there he was, taking Annalise out onto the dance floor again, as if they were the best of friends.

  After that she’d seen Annalise dancing with another man—a friend of Silas’s—and Silas vanished. She’d had to exercise every ounce of self-control to keep smiling and chatting with Warren and later with Annalise when she’d wanted nothing better than to tell her to stay away from Silas.

  She swiped at her eyes now. It would do no good to go getting them all swollen. Then everyone would know she’d been crying. She wouldn’t give Silas the satisfaction!

  She had guests to see to. Thankfully, they were leaving this morning. Cherish threw off the bedclothes, resolved to brave the day. First a repair job on her face, she decided, peering at the red-rimmed eyes in the mirror. Then to play the charming hostess to the Townsends as she’d promised her father. Then, finally, down to the boat shop to comfort Silas and discover why he couldn’t have spared one dance for her!

  In the afternoon Silas headed up to the shop after spending the morning working in the stocks scarfing together lengths of wood. They had been cut and shaped to fit together like puzzle pieces, forming the vertical ribs of the schooner’s hull.

  He hadn’t been up to the house for dinner, but had brought a lunch pail down with him.

  Now he welcomed a break from the tiring work in the sun. Try as he would to deny it, he also looked forward to seeing Cherish again. Why, when he’d managed to live without her for months, even years on end, did his eyes now long for a glimpse of her daily, his soul for some moments of communion? These were questions he chose to ignore for the moment as he pushed open the back door to the boat shop.

  He spied Cherish down on her knees before a large board.

  “Hi, there. At work already?” he asked in a friendly voice. In her simple cotton dress and pinafore apron she appeared so different from last night, yet just as captivating.

  She did not look up at him, but continued drawing a straight line down from top to bottom of the board. “Yes.”

  Feeling slightly put out that she’d started without him, he squatted down beside her. “Sorry I couldn’t get here sooner. I had to finish framing a section of the hull.”

  She finished the line. “That’s quite all right. Excuse me.” She indicated she wanted him to move and he complied, wondering why she was behaving as if he’d done something wrong.

  “Sure. Need some help?”

  She finally sat back on her heels and addressed him directly. “I’m marking out a grid on this board. I’ve figured out the scale of the half-hull model measurements, which I’ve plotted on this chart. See, ‘two inches equals one foot, zero inches.’ So we’ll divide the board into a grid of one-foot spaces. Here, you can do the next one.”

  He took the yardstick and pencil from her and followed her directions. In the meantime, she began measuring out the horizontal lines on the board, explaining how she’d calculated those spaces. The two of them worked silently, crisscrossing paths every once in a while.

  The flowery scent of her hair came under his nostrils when this happened. She seemed completely unaware of him, her focus intent on the pencil and yardstick in her hand. He noticed how slim and attractive her hand looked, splayed against the white board. Its only adornment was a thin silver ring with a small amethyst stone set in a filigreed mount.

  “Tired after last night?” he asked.

  “A little,” she replied, her back to him.

  “It was a nice party,” he offered, hoping to make her feel better if she were upset about something.

  “Thank you.”

  “Miss Townsend seemed to flounder a bit there, not knowing anyone but you.”

  “Thank goodness you were there to rescue her.”

  He eyed her back. Did he detect a trace of sarcasm? What had he done? “She’s all right, once you get to know her. We spoke about you,” he said humorously.

  That caused her to crane around to look at him. “What about me?” she asked with a frown.

  He grinned, hoping to get a rise from her. “Oh, I just told her she’d better follow you around if she wanted to learn how to socialize.”

  “What does that mean?” She didn’t sound pleased.

  “Just that. You know how to talk to people, dance, put on the charm—”

  “Is that what you think I do?”

  He cleared his throat, wondering why she was so touchy. “Anyway, she was a bit shy, and I thought you could help her.”

  “Is that so?” She drew another line across the wood. “What else did you talk about?”

  “She admires you. Maybe you could befriend her, you know, take her under your wing. She seems to be in mortal fear of strangers. I felt kind of sorry for her last night. I told Charlie he’d better dance with her and treat her nicely if he wanted me to help him with his next boat.”

  Cherish turned his way and began to measure the next line. “I thought I treated her rather graciously last night. What more do you want me to do—bring her along to the boat shop?”

  Now he was certain she was upset about something. She never brought her girlfriends to the shop. “No-o, but you could, oh, you know, have her over, be her friend, talk about whatever it is girls talk about when they’re together.”

  She didn’t reply, but continued working.

  He drew another line. “What’s up?”

  She glanced at him. “What do you mean?”

  “I know when something’s bothering you.”

  “Nothing’s wrong.” She took up the chart and began studying it intently.

  “Come on. You can tell ol’ Silas.”

  “You’re imagining things.”

  “What is it, Cherry?” he asked in a cajoling tone, using his childhood nickname for her.

  “Don’t call me that! You know I can’t abide it!”

  He thought of something. “Is it Townsend? He stuck by you most of the evening. Did he say anything to offend you?”

  “No. He was the perfect gentleman.”

  Silas frowned, remembering how good the two had looked dancing together, each one so elegantly attired. “Your father seems to think highly of him.”

  “Perhaps justly so.”

  “Yes, I’m sure,” he answered dryly. Seeing his questions were getting him nowhere, he gave up, telling himself Cherish was just in a mood. He’d heard women got into funny humors, although Cherish had never done so before she’d gone away. Maybe that was something she’d picked up on her travels.

  But Cherish wasn’t ready to let the topic end. “I noticed you had no trouble dancing last night,” she said, and again Silas noticed the edge to her tone.

  “Well, I couldn’t very well refuse Townsend’s request to dance wi
th his sister.”

  “You were very gracious to take her out onto the dance floor so many times. It’s a pity you couldn’t spare one dance for your hostess.”

  Silas stared at Cherish. He read hurt in her unblinking gaze, and he finally understood. She had wanted him to dance with her.

  He swallowed hard and turned away. How could he tell her he had deliberately avoided holding her in his arms?

  He cleared his throat, his fingers fiddling with his pencil. She deserved an explanation, but he didn’t think she’d accept the only one he had.

  “You were pretty busy on the dance floor all evening. I didn’t think you needed me to fill up your dance card.”

  She turned away from him and resumed her work. He couldn’t tell whether she’d accepted his explanation or not.

  “You’re right, Silas. I didn’t need you as a partner. I would have liked you as a partner.”

  He had no reply to that. How much he would have liked her as a partner he knew only too well. And the less she knew of it, the better.

  On the night of choir practice Cherish put on her hat and grabbed up her shawl to walk to the church. As she walked out the door after supper, she saw Silas walking up the front walk.

  “You ready to go?” he asked her.

  “You didn’t have to come all the way here to fetch me.” She had deliberately not reminded him of choir practice when they’d worked together in the boat shop earlier in the day.

  He looked unbearably handsome, his dark golden hair brushed back from his forehead, his skin bronze against the collar of his white shirt. He wore no jacket, only a vest.

  “Of course I was going to fetch you. Come on.” Not waiting for her reply, he turned back on the path.

  They were quiet on the walk there. Halfway to the church they were joined by another couple going in the same direction.

  “Evenin’, Cherish, Silas,” said the man, the woman beside him nodding with a smile.

  “Evening, Billy,” Silas replied. “Going to choir practice?”

  “Yep. Fine evening, ain’t it?”

  “Sure is.”

  “When you gonna launch that schooner?” Billy asked, indicating the ship in the stocks as they passed the boatyard.

  “By summer’s end, we expect, or early in the autumn.”

  “Don’t see any more keels being laid. Don’t you have any new orders for the summer?”

  “We’re working on some dories in the workshop right now. Charles Whitcomb may commission a sloop.”

  The man nodded. “Not like the old days when the yard was littered with hulls.”

  The two men continued chatting as they neared the white clapboard church.

  During the practice, Cherish stood with the women. The pastor wasn’t present—only his wife, Carrie, who played the piano. Another gentleman from the congregation directed them.

  “Let’s turn to hymn number eighty,” he told them. They sang a rousing “All Hail the Power of Jesus’ Name” about half a dozen times before the man was satisfied.

  By the time they left, Cherish thought the words to the hymns would be revolving in her head all evening. Several people walked along with her and Silas as they turned homeward.

  “You don’t have to go with me. I’ll walk along with this group until I reach home,” she told him.

  “I agreed to accompany you there and back, and that’s what I’m going to do,” he insisted.

  She sighed. How nice it would have been if he’d said he would walk with her because he wanted to and not because he felt obliged to. Hugging the shawl around her, she contemplated the night sky, which was just turning a deep blue, its edges still pale and edged by a wash of orange where the sun had set.

  “Chilly?” Silas asked softly.

  She shook her head.

  “I’ll be settin’ out my onions and taters tomorrow,” Billy said to them. “Too early for the squash and corn. We could still get a frost.”

  “We have peas, radishes and lettuce coming up nicely,” Cherish told him. “Aunt Phoebe and I will probably be planting more seeds tomorrow.”

  “’Spect we’ll have some rain in another day or two, so it’s the time to get some seed in the ground.”

  They waved goodbye to the other couples when they reached Cherish’s gate. Silas followed her up the walk to the veranda. When they approached it, Cherish climbed up the first step before turning to bid him good-night.

  He stood on the ground at eye level with her. “For the past few days you’ve been looking as if you’ve lost your best friend,” he said jokingly. “Don’t be sad. You’ve still got me.” His lips crooked upward in the dim light.

  Her throat tightened at his words. He didn’t realize what he was saying. She had lost her best friend, who wasn’t even aware of it. She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes.

  Not able to speak, she leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek, wanting somehow to express what she felt for him.

  At the same instant Silas turned his head to hers and began saying “Good night.”

  He never finished the words, as her pursed lips touched his half-open mouth. She could see his eyes widen with the shock of the contact.

  She didn’t dare move, didn’t dare breathe. All that she could think was she never wanted the moment to end.

  A second later he jerked back.

  “Well,” she said, too awed by the contact to say anything more.

  His eyes stared into hers, and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “I—I’m sorry about that,” he stuttered, taking a step away from her. “I’ll say good-night. I’ll—I’ll see you tomorrow.” Already he was hurrying down the path.

  “Good night,” she called after him, laughter in her voice, her high spirits returning. He had kissed her and it had not left him unaffected! If it hadn’t actually been a kiss, it had been close enough! If he was going to act shy about that, well, she’d make him see it was all right. More than all right!

  Thank You, Lord, oh, thank You, Lord!

  She stayed on the veranda until Silas was out of sight over the rise in the road. She brought the shawl up over her mouth, hugging herself with it, reliving the feel of his lips against her mouth, their softness and warmth.

  It was a sign, a definite sign, that she and Silas were meant for each other.

  Silas strode away from the Winslow house as if his rapid pace could outstrip his thoughts. He didn’t slow down until he arrived at the boat shop.

  How could it have happened! He’d been going to say good-night and the next thing he knew his mouth was touching hers!

  Cherish was his employer’s daughter. He’d never…it had never occurred to him—Horror filled him at the reality of the brief touching of her lips.

  How could this—this intimate act have happened? The more he tried to puzzle out the madness of that moment, the more he remembered the feel of her soft lips against his, her warm breath brushing his.

  He recoiled at having violated some unwritten code that put Cherish beyond his reach. But even as he tried to erase the memory of her mouth, he felt a yearning for more.

  When he entered the silent boat shop, the smell of wood permeating the cavernous room, he could feel the fingers of loneliness creeping out from every corner of the room, seeking him out, and laying hold of him.

  This room contained all he had lived for for as long as he could remember. There was no room for loneliness in his life; he’d come to terms with his solitary existence long ago.

  He climbed the stairs to his room under the eaves of the workshop. Everything was as he’d left it, bare and neat. He fell on the narrow cot, thinking even as he did so that he should hang up his good trousers and take off his starched shirt before it became wrinkled, but he didn’t move. The walls pressed in around him, the sensation magnified by the lapping of the waves at high tide down below against the concrete foundation of the boathouse, pushing against the defenses he’d erected over the years.

  They had crumbled like a sand castl
e before the tide in the space of a few seconds in an accidental encounter of one girl’s lips with his. He wiped the back of his hand against his mouth as if with the action he could wipe away the memory of her lips. But the gesture was futile—he could still taste the sweetness of those lips.

  Chapter Six

  Cherish rose early. Ever since she was fifteen and had first given her heart to the Lord, she’d made a practice of having a quiet time with Him before beginning her day. She’d slacked off in recent days, but now felt she needed to get back to that firm foundation of God’s Word and prayer. She opened a book of devotions and turned to the day’s scripture reading.

  “Be not wise in your own conceits,” she read in the portion of Romans. She went over the explanatory passage, then got down by her bed to pray.

  She asked for the Lord’s guidance that day. She prayed for her family members and those she knew who had need of a special touch from God. She prayed for the missionaries taking God’s Word to far-off lands.

  Lastly, she brought up the need that was most pressing on her heart. “Father, You know my feelings for Silas. You know all things. Oh, God, I want to do Your will. But…but—” her heart swelled again with hope “—with what happened last night, I feel as if I’ve received your blessing. I don’t want to be wise in my own conceits, but I know he feels something for me, too! Oh, God, grant me to follow the right course. Let me see a sign in his eyes that he cares for me—oh, even an inkling of what I feel for him! I pray in Your dear Son Jesus’ name.”

  She ended her prayer, then stood to wash and dress, ready to face the day, hope restored.

  Her hope was strengthened when she saw that Silas was still at the breakfast table with her father. Had he waited for her?

  “Good morning,” she said brightly.

  Silas was standing at the table, removing a spoon from the sugar bowl. His hand jerked, spilling sugar onto the white tablecloth. His glance dropped from Cherish to the spoon.

  “Good morning,” her father replied. She kissed the top of his head before approaching Silas at the other end of the table.

  She smiled at his clumsy attempts to sweep up the spilled sugar. “Here, let me help you,” she said, coming to stand close to him. He immediately moved away about a foot. She took up a knife and used its edge to collect the sugar and bring it to the edge of the table, where she scraped it into her other palm.