Lilac Spring

by Ruth Axtell Morren

  Her head snapped up at the sound of the door.

  “Hello, Cherish. What are you looking so dejected about?”

  “Oh, nothing!” she answered immediately, and put on her brightest smile. “Hello, Warren. What brings you to Haven’s End?”

  “I thought I’d come see you in your place of employment this time. I’ll ride over to see your father in a little while.”

  She smiled. “Well, here you see me.”

  He took a seat across the desk from her and she admired once again what a good-looking gentleman he was. He was wearing a lightweight tweed jacket and fawn-colored trousers.

  They chatted a while about things in Hatsfield.

  “Cherish.” Warren’s gentle tones made her raise her eyes.

  “Yes?”

  “We’ve been seeing each other quite a few weeks now. I’d say we get along pretty well, wouldn’t you?”

  “Yes, we do.” Oh, no, she thought, it couldn’t be. Was he going to? Suddenly she found she wasn’t prepared for the thing she’d been thinking about so much. What would she say?

  He leaned forward in his chair and gave a small cough into his hand. Then he looked earnestly at her. “Would you ever consider…that is, would you do me the honor of…becoming my wife?”

  She found she didn’t know what to say. She should be honored, relieved. This is what her father wanted. This would solve everything. Warren was the most eligible bachelor in the county, and here she sat mute as a mouse.

  He gave a rueful smile. “You don’t have to look so astonished. Does this come as a complete surprise?”

  She had to smile at that. “No, not if I’m completely honest.” She became serious. “Warren, you’ve flattered me deeply with your proposal.”

  “Why do I hear a ‘but’ coming?”

  She blushed, again wishing…

  “You don’t have to give me an answer today.”

  She would almost say he looked relieved. Was Warren truly in love with her?

  “I—I’ll think about it,” she promised him.

  She invited him to dinner, and the conversation turned to other things. Gradually she was able to relax again in his company and almost forget the proposal she’d just received. Warren seemed in no hurry for an answer.

  She felt as if she’d been given a reprieve. Even though the June 30 deadline loomed.

  Silas took out his sailboat at twilight, needing a place to think. He left the harbor behind and sailed beyond the last point of land, beyond the small islands skirting the coast, until he came to a large bay. It was past eight o’clock and the sky was still light, although the sun was sinking low.

  The sails luffed as the wind suddenly stilled, then they, too, fell silent. The sea was a perfectly calm expanse. He looked toward the horizon of sea and sky. It came to him that God’s grace was something like that—a vast, incalculable gift.

  Pastor McDuffie had told him, “You’ve treated Winslow better than he’s deserved. You did this for his daughter’s sake, didn’t you?”

  Silas hadn’t been able to deny that, although he hadn’t said anything in reply.

  “What if you did it for love of Jesus?” the pastor had challenged him, explaining to him about being a blessing to Winslow. “‘Therefore if thine enemy hunger, feed him; if he thirst, give him drink.’”

  Silas remembered the sermon about offering his body a living sacrifice. He had gone back and read the verse in his Bible. “I beseech you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, that ye present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable unto God, which is your reasonable service.” The words that had sounded so extreme to him when he’d first heard them from the pulpit now jolted him by their last five words. Which is your reasonable service. What God was asking was something He considered merely reasonable.

  Silas thought of the piles of bills and coins hidden away in his old room above the boat shop.

  He had it in his power to hand it all over to Winslow.

  He could give up his dream. All those years of working and saving. Had they been in vain? Had he been fooling himself? Was the day of the sailing ship over? Silas spied the Eastport steamer trudging past him on the far horizon on its way south to Portland. Had he been born twenty years too late? Is that what shipbuilding was becoming—turning out big, ugly, barge-like vessels? He was a man of wood and sail. Would there be no place for him and his craft in this world?

  When the steamer had disappeared and everything lay once again still and calm, his thoughts turned to Cherish.

  It would be easy to hand over his life’s savings to Winslow if he thought of it as a gift to Cherish. It came to him that he would give his life for Cherish. The fact sank in as he realized how much he loved her. Without her, the money meant nothing.

  He turned his face westward toward the coastline. The sun was a fiery phosphorescent orange ball, only half visible, the other half already below the hilly line of trees.

  Suddenly a still, small voice came to him. Would he give his life for his Savior?

  Your reasonable service.

  Is that what his Christian service came to—giving up his life for his Savior?

  He thought long and hard about his Christian walk. He’d always gone to church because he was made to; he’d brought his offerings, he’d tried to do right by his fellow man—look how he’d submitted to Winslow. Wasn’t all that enough?

  Suddenly all those efforts seemed just that—efforts. Not things done out of love, but obligations fulfilled in order to feel right. He’d satisfied Pastor McDuffie with his Sunday attendance; he’d satisfied Cherish by accompanying her to choir practice; he’d satisfied his employer and Mrs. Sullivan by living a clean, upright life.

  In that moment all his service appeared “as filthy rags,” as Cherish had remarked. What was it Jesus had called the Pharisees? Whitewashed sepulchres? Silas found himself comparing himself to them. He’d always listened to those Sunday-school lessons and thought how hypocritical those Pharisees were with their external worship. They were the ones who’d ended up crucifying Jesus.

  Silas saw himself covered with the same filth—his behavior outwardly holy, when his heart had never been engaged.

  He stared at the skyline where the sun had sunk and dusk was beginning to penetrate. But who are You, Lord? How do I get to know You?

  When he returned to the parsonage, he asked Pastor McDuffie where he should begin reading his Bible. McDuffie showed no surprise at the question, but immediately turned to the book of John and handed the Bible back to him.

  “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God….”

  The following night after dinner Tom Winslow told Cherish he wanted to talk to her. She looked across the table in alarm. “Is something wrong, Papa?”

  “No. In fact, it’s good news I want to share with you.”

  What could it be? She rose from the table and began to help Aunt Phoebe clear the dishes.

  “You go on with your father. It’s important.”

  More and more intrigued, Cherish followed her father to his large cherrywood desk.

  Her father handed her a bulky envelope. He waited as she turned it over, trying to figure out what it contained.

  “Fifteen hundred dollars,” he told her. “Open it and see.”

  She undid the clasp. She could hear the sound of coins rattling inside, but still couldn’t help gasping when she peeked inside. A thick pile of bills was stuffed into it, with gold and silver coins jammed in alongside.

  “That should satisfy the bank to give us an extension at least until we can get the final five hundred.”

  “Fifteen hundred dollars? How, Papa, how?”

  “A friend has given me twelve hundred, and your aunt Phoebe put in her nest egg of three hundred.”

  Cherish could feel the tears welling in her eyes. Dear Aunt Phoebe. She had to concentrate to catch the rest of what her father was saying.

  “He’s given me all the time I need to repay
him. Didn’t even want to be repaid, except that I insisted, of course.”

  “But who, Papa? Who has that kind of money?”

  “No need to trouble yourself about that. Just trust me that it’s all right.” Her father turned to the papers on his desk as if anxious to get on to something else. “We’ll figure out a way to get the final five hundred. We’ll take it from the earnings from the schooner. It’s nearing completion.” He rubbed his chin. “Perhaps I could put a bug into Warren Townsend’s ear. His father sits on the bank board….”

  “Oh, Papa, no!” She’d die of shame to think they were begging favors of him. And she’d feel under further obligation.

  “Don’t worry, my dear. I know how to do it. You needn’t fret.”

  Cherish left her father’s presence in a daze. The sudden lifting of her heaviest burden left her thoroughly confused. Who could have given her father such a sum? She had never beheld such a vast quantity of money. It was true her father had many friends and many who admired him in the business community. They had all been to see him since he’d suffered his collapse. Could he have spoken of his troubles to one of them?

  Cherish still found it hard to accept. If her father hadn’t told her until forced to, what would compel him to confide in someone else? Could it have been to ease her mind? She conceded that most likely that was the motive.

  She went up to her room, knelt by her bed and thanked God for the reprieve. It was true that the debt still remained, no matter what her father had said about the mysterious benefactor giving them all the time needed to repay it. It was true they were still five hundred dollars short. But for the moment, all Cherish could feel was relief and gratitude.

  Most of all, she felt an overwhelming lifting of a burden. She would be able to turn Warren down in good conscience.

  Warren Townsend sat across the desk from his father.

  “You’ve been going over to Haven’s End quite a bit recently. Still interested in the Winslow girl?”

  He reddened, not liking the direct way his father put it. “I’ve been by to see her father.”

  “How’s he doing?”

  “He’s on the mend. The doctor warns him he can’t put any stress on his heart.”

  “His days of running the shipyard are over.”

  “I don’t know. His daughter has been managing quite capably in the interim.”

  The older Townsend snorted. “I’m sure she won’t be able to weather things in a few days.”

  “Why is that?” He didn’t like it when his father got that knowing tone.

  “Winslow’s Shipyard owes quite a tidy sum to Hatsfield Bank. The note comes due tomorrow.”

  “How did you find that out?” he asked to hide his shock, although he shouldn’t have been surprised. His father made it his business to find out what went on at the bank.

  “I don’t sit on their board of directors for nothing.” He eased back in his chair and crossed the legs of his pressed trousers. “The timing couldn’t be better. I’ve had my eye on that shipyard for some time. Now that we’ve acquired the sawmill, and we have the emporium going, what’s more natural than to supply our companies with their own fleet of schooners?”

  “Is that why you encouraged my friendship with Miss Winslow?” Warren asked, although again he knew the answer before it came.

  His father shrugged, looking at the ends of his buffed nails. “She’s a pretty gal, smart by the sounds of it. Winslow’s given her every advantage. Do you fancy her?”

  Warren felt uncomfortable under his father’s direct scrutiny. Did he fancy Cherish? He admired her, respected her, thought her the prettiest, most ladylike young woman in the area. “I’ve asked her to marry me.”

  His father nodded. “She’ll soon be a pauper, but you’ll have more than enough for the both of you. Make her a more amenable wife, I’d say. At any rate, I give you my blessing.”

  Warren didn’t tell him she hadn’t given him an answer yet. “How much does Winslow owe the bank?”

  “Something to the tune of two thousand dollars.”

  Warren couldn’t help whistling softly. That was a lot of money for the small businesses around here. Even Warren didn’t have that kind of money. His father kept him on a short rein.

  “And you say it’s due tomorrow? Do you think he’ll be able to pay it?”

  “I hardly think he’ll come up with the sum. He’s been abed practically a month.” His father waved his hand dismissively. “Winslow has overextended, and now it’s time to pay the piper. That’s all there is to it.”

  Warren was thinking fast, but knew he couldn’t get his hands on that kind of money so quickly. All he knew was that he felt a compelling desire to offer Cherish a way out. He didn’t want her forced to accept his proposal.

  The more he saw of business, the less he liked it. It seemed everything depended on finding a competitor’s weakness and exploiting it.

  “I want you to go over to Haven’s End—that should be no hardship to you,” his father added with a chuckle. “Keep close to the situation. It’s to your advantage.”

  Warren felt sick. He liked Cherish, but he didn’t want her that way. Even though he should be relieved to have his father’s blessing, instead he felt repulsed.

  Somewhere he had a yearning for a kind of love that swept a person off his feet. A love that faced every kind of challenge and triumphed. He didn’t feel this kind of love, nor did he think he inspired it in Cherish. All he felt was a desire to do what little he could to help her out of her predicament.

  Chapter Twenty

  Silas had a day off from the cannery on the Fourth of July. The whole village was closed, and everyone turned out for the festivities.

  But he was in no mood to celebrate as he sailed to Hatsfield, preparing to meet Annalise. Warren had arranged everything, knowing his parents were busy with official functions.

  Now he stood, hat in hand, in the Townsend parlor, where Warren had left him with Annalise for a few moments. The house was dim and quiet, in contrast to the bright hot sun outside.

  “Hello, Annalise. I haven’t seen you in a while,” he began.

  “Hello, Silas. Won’t you have a seat?” She indicated a chair beside the settee where she was seated with her hands folded primly in her lap.

  He sat down with his hat in his lap. What now? What was he supposed to say to make things all right? Annalise was a lovely person. He could see the shy expectancy in her eyes before she fixed her attention on her clasped hands.

  “Have you been busy working?”

  “Yes, yes, I have,” he answered rapidly, then stopped. No, he would be honest. “Annalise, the reason I stopped by today was to tell you goodbye.”

  Her eyes flashed up at him quickly before looking down again. “Goodbye?”

  He cleared his throat. “Yes. You see, I’m going away soon. I don’t know exactly when. It depends on Mr. Winslow, when he’s feeling fully recuperated. Then I intend to head farther north or south and look for work in another—bigger—shipyard.”

  “Why can’t you continue working where you are?”

  Her eyes, magnified by the spectacles, were very direct.

  He was the one to shift his gaze this time. He concentrated on the band of his hat. “Shipbuilding is dying in this area. I thought about looking down around Rockland, even Portland, where I hear a lot of ships are still being built.”

  “Oh, I see. You wouldn’t consider any other sort of work?”

  “No.” He thought of his present work at the cannery. “That is, I hope I can find something in shipbuilding. You see, it’s what I do best. Work with my hands. I don’t think I’m much good for anything else.”

  “I’m sure there are lots of things you are good at.”

  He smiled slightly. “Thank you.” Suddenly he wished he did love her and that he wouldn’t hurt her too much with his words or with his goodbye. “Annalise.”

  “Yes?” She blinked, the hopeful look returning.

  “Some day y
ou’ll meet some fine gentleman worthy of you—someone who’s well educated like you and can offer you the kind of home you deserve.” The wild thought occurred to him that he could just as well be making the same speech to Cherish. In her case, that “someone” was already in the picture—Warren Townsend.

  Annalise was shaking her head at his words.

  “You will, you’ll see. Your family is well connected. You’ll probably end up traveling quite a bit the way your brother has, or Cher—Miss Winslow.” He was searching desperately for words of encouragement. Her muteness alarmed him. Even more did the silent tears that began filling her large eyes.

  He swallowed, feeling like the lowest scoundrel. “Please don’t cry. I’m certainly not worth it.”

  She sniffed. He could see her fingernails white as she clutched her hands together.

  “Please, Annalise, don’t cry,” he repeated. “Do you want me to get your brother?”

  She shook her head. “Please go,” she whispered, turning her head away and wiping at the wet trail down her cheek.

  He finally stood, his hat still in his hand, seeing his words only made things worse.

  With sadness and self-contempt, but no regret at the decision he had taken, he left the room. Once he was outside, Warren came to him. “Well?” he asked.

  “You probably ought to go to her,” Silas answered quietly. “I’ll see myself out.”

  Warren hesitated. “You told her?”

  “I told her goodbye.”

  “You’re making a mistake, van der Zee. A big mistake.”

  At the front door Townsend said to him, “If you see Miss Winslow today, please send her my best regards. Tell her I’m sorry to miss the festivities over at Haven’s End, but duty calls here at Hatsfield. There are a lot of official functions my father and I must preside over.” He hesitated once again. “Please tell her I’ll be by to see her tomorrow.”

  For a man who had courted no women since his childhood sweetheart had died, Silas had just lost two women vastly superior to himself in just the first half of summer.