Lilac Spring (7 page)

He shrugged. “I do. I feel sorry for her mostly.”

His answer annoyed her. She wasn’t sure why. “What is there to feel sorry for? She’s pretty, she’s well educated, she has a dear brother, her family is well-off.”

“She’s also morbidly shy.”

“That can be overcome.”

He glanced down at her. “That might be easy for you to say, not suffering from shyness.”

“How do you know I think it’s so easy?” Here she’d come with the best of intentions, bringing him a gift, and she was made to feel as if she were the one lacking in charity.
Charity.
Ugh! That word, which conjured up other words like patience and kindness… “I promised you I’d befriend her. What more do you want?”

“Nothing.” He turned back to his work, giving Cherish the sense that she was dismissed.

“I just want for us to have a good time,” she said in her most coaxing tone. “Is anything so wrong with that?”

She couldn’t see his face anymore. “No, I suppose not,” he answered shortly.

“Well, I don’t know what you’re so grumpy about. I just came by so you could sample a doughnut or two. Excuse me for interrupting your important work.” She set the remainder of the doughnuts on a plank of wood and brushed her skirts off. “I think I’ll continue with the lofting at the boat shop. You can join me when you find the time,” she added, as if his involvement were the least of her concerns.

Silas didn’t come home for dinner, preferring to finish his job on the hull, but told Winslow to make his excuses to Mrs. Sullivan. He ate the remaining doughnuts, including the one Cherish had taken one bite out of.

He knew he was acting churlish and as skittish as a colt around Cherish, but he couldn’t help it. He felt as if he must salvage a remnant of control over a situation that was fast unraveling.

Cherish didn’t know what she was playing with. He didn’t blame her. She was just a young girl used to having fun. She didn’t have a clue what she was doing to him. She was probably doing the same thing to Townsend.

It would be interesting—but it would certainly not be “fun”—to see events unfold at the Townsend weekend.

He pounded the trunnels into the wood savagely, his arm aching, knowing he couldn’t avoid Cherish forever. He’d better develop a pretty tough skin.

“W
arren plays the piano beautifully,” Mrs. Townsend told Cherish as the serving maid cleared the first course from the table. “Do you play, Miss Winslow?”

“Only indifferently,” she replied, sitting back to let the girl brush the crumbs from the cloth.

“Miss Winslow is quite an accomplished artist,” Warren told his mother from across the table.

Cherish gave him a brief smile before her glance strayed to the other end of the table. The senior Mr. Townsend was talking with Silas, who sat at his right. Annalise sat across from Silas, her gaze riveted on his face.

Cherish gave her attention to Mrs. Townsend, though she strained to hear the conversation between Mr. Townsend and Silas.

“Oh, do you sketch, my dear?” Mrs. Townsend asked her.

“Now, what’s the tonnage…” she caught from Mr. Townsend.

“Yes, ma’am, and watercolor. I like to paint each ship that’s built at the shipyard.”

“Oh, how lovely,” Mrs. Townsend said. “I imagine you saw many fine monuments to paint on your European tour?”

“I believe if we increase the length overall and deepen the draft…” came Silas’s voice.

“Yes, indeed. I filled a portfolio with sketches. I even tried my hand at oils.”

“You must show me some day.”

“Now, you take the three-masted coastal schooners. They’ve proven their worth up against the steamers.”

“You certainly can’t find any vessel more weatherly,” Silas agreed.

“I’ve tried to get Annalise to paint my garden, but she hasn’t shown an inclination.”

“But the question I have is which is superior—the deep-draft keel model or the shoaler centerboard?”

“Well, sir, I’ve given it a lot of thought, and…”

Cherish’s tongue itched to contribute to the conversation between the two men at the far end of the table, but she smiled at her hostess and tried to infuse some enthusiasm in her replies.

She glanced at Silas and saw him take up his silver knife and delineate something for Mr. Townsend along the tablecloth, his face alight with eagerness. The older man listened intently.

Cherish finally gave up trying to listen in on two conversations and reply to only one of them. She turned to the crystal bowl of sorbet placed in front of her. If dinner were any indication, it was going to prove nigh on impossible to find time alone with Silas.

Cherish and Silas spent the next day out on Whittier’s Lake with a party of young people the Townsends had invited. The clouds had broken and the sun shone bright and warm over the dew-damp landscape.

To her chagrin, Cherish was not able to maneuver a place in the skiff with Silas. Warren had deposited Annalise in it. Cherish’s smile was becoming strained as she was helped aboard a second boat by Warren.

Pleading the excuse that she was going to sketch the lovely scenery, she was spared from making polite conversation. As the others fished, she drew desultorily.

They rowed toward the middle of the immense lake. Cherish, despite her growing frustration, finally settled on sketching the boat Silas sat in. She concentrated on drawing both its occupants so it would not be obvious which one drew her attention, but she took special care in drawing his features.

He had a classic profile and lean cheeks. Although he was usually serious, she could always tell when something sparked his humor. The amusement was evident in the deep-set gray eyes long before it reached his lips.

He was smiling now as he faced Annalise in the boat. Cherish could just imagine his teasing tone as he coaxed a response from her. His arms bent forward and back as he rowed them far out into the lake. What solicitude when he helped her bait her hook and cast her line! Cherish’s pencil lead snapped against her tablet.

“Did it break?” Warren’s soft voice intruded. She glanced up to see him looking at her in concern.

“Yes. Careless of me. I pushed it too hard,” she replied tersely.

“Here, let me whittle a new point for you,” he offered.

“No, thank you. I have a spare pencil.” She set down her sketching pad. “I don’t think I’ll do any more right now.”

“May I?” Warren asked, reaching for her pad. “That’s very good.”

“It’s just a rough sketch,” she answered hastily.

A sudden shout of laughter drew her attention back to one of the other skiffs. She saw it jostling back and forth as one of the occupants landed a fish.

“They seem to be having a good time,” she said.

“What did you catch there?” Warren called over. “An old boot?”

“Don’t you wish!” a voice shouted back as the fisherman held up a good-sized trout from his line.

“We’ll have to redouble our efforts,” Warren told the other boaters. “They’re one ahead of us now.”

After that Cherish decided to try her hand at fishing, as well. When she landed a trout, she felt vindicated. She held it
up to Silas across the water when he caught one, too. They used to go fishing together, long ago.

By midafternoon they had beached their craft on the crescent of sandy beach where the Townsends had a “camp,” the name for their sizable summer cottage.

Warren grasped Cherish briefly by the waist and swung her ashore to prevent her getting her feet wet. She turned in time to see Silas rendering the same service to Annalise.

“I shall put you in charge of the ladies,” Warren told her with a smile. “You can collect some kindling.”

Cherish gathered her skirts, saying over her shoulder, “Come, ladies, let’s get this task under way. Annalise, why don’t you show us the way? Are there any footpaths?”

“Yes, over here.”

When they returned with armloads of fallen sticks, the men had the trout cleaned. “That’s just what we need.” Warren walked over to Cherish and relieved her of the wood.

Soon they had a fire going. Cherish, hoping to show off her new culinary skills, joined Warren to cook the trout, but he refused her help. “This is a man’s affair,” he told her with a chuckle. “Fishing, cleaning our catch, cooking over an open fire on the beach.”

“Oh-ho, is that so?” she answered with a laugh. He really was a nice person, she thought, looking up at his smiling face. Some woman would be blessed to have his affections. “And what are we supposed to do in the meantime? I warn you, we’ve developed quite a hunger all morning.” She glanced at Silas, who was crouched by the fire, feeding it twigs.

“You have nothing to fear. I’ve done this many times. You’ll have the crispiest trout you’ve ever tasted.”

“Crisp, I hope, doesn’t mean burned.”

“Oh, Cherish, you wound me,” he said. As he spoke he was busy setting a frying pan on the fire and sticking a hunk of lard in it. He had taken off his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves. He left Silas in charge of the fire and took one of his friends with him to unpack the hamper they had brought.

As they set the table, Cherish made an effort to get to know the other young ladies. She stole another look at Silas, who hadn’t addressed her once during their outing. He stood talking with Warren and another gentleman as they watched Warren roll the fish in flour and place it in the hot fat.

Cherish felt tears prick her eyes. What had happened to her closeness with Silas? Didn’t he care at all about her anymore?
Oh, Lord, help me to understand. I know I must trust You in this, but…but…it just seems…

“Your father has a lot of plans for the lumber mill,” Silas said to Warren. The aroma of the frying trout filled the air.

Warren smiled at him over the smoke from the hot fire. “Yes, he no sooner completes one venture than he comes up with a new one.”

He flipped a trout expertly with the spatula. The fish sizzled and spattered as the flour hit the grease. “The latest is to build some schooners to handle the lumber we anticipate coming through the mill. He seemed pretty impressed with some of your ideas last night. You were explaining something about using a deeper centerboard.”

“Yes, I think it would have the stability of the keel and yet carry more cargo than the current centerboard models.”

“If what you’re saying proves true, it would be ideal for the coastal trade the three-masted schooners now handle. It would be just what Father needs for the trade he envisions.”

Silas didn’t say anything. He knew his idea would work, but he wasn’t used to selling his ideas to anyone. His glance strayed to Cherish, who was making herself useful as usual with a cheery demeanor among the women she’d just met. He marveled how at home she always seemed in any new situation. Completely unlike Annalise, who viewed her with awe.

He could understand that feeling.

He turned his attention back to Townsend. If he knew anything about Thomas Winslow, Cherish’s father had this man earmarked as a suitable candidate for his only daughter’s hand.

Was that why Silas had made a deliberate effort to get to know the man to see what he was made of? To see if he was worthy of Cherish? Try as he might, Silas could find no fault with Warren Townsend. None at all.

Why did that conclusion give him no satisfaction?

It only left a bitter taste in his mouth, curdling the appetizing smell of frying trout to an acrid stench of smoke in his nostrils.

The trout indeed proved delicious. Mrs. Townsend had sent along loaves of bread, pickles and salads. Seated far down the picnic table from Silas, Cherish did her best to join in the laughter and teasing of the company around her.

After they had cleared up, one of the men, Ted, said, “Can you hike up to Dexter’s Summit from here?”

“Yes, there’s a trail,” Warren told him, and pointed toward the woods. “It’s about an hour’s hike up.”

“Who’s game?” Ted asked, looking around the company.

“Oh, it sounds like what we need after all that trout,” Cherish answered immediately.

“I don’t know,” Warren began. “It’s a rugged path, all uphill. Are you sure you ladies are up to it?”

“Of course we are!” She looked at the other three women. All except Annalise quickly seconded her.

Warren pulled out his pocket watch. “I don’t want to head back to Hatsfield too late. What do you think, Annalise?”

“It
is
rather far,” she began.

“Perhaps one of us could stay down here, to accompany the ladies who don’t feel up to the hike,” the other gentleman, Andrew, offered.

The other ladies quickly scoffed at such a suggestion.

Cherish watched Silas shift from one foot to the other. Afraid that he would volunteer to stay with Annalise, or that Warren would volunteer him, Cherish said, “Oh, come, we’re not so fainthearted, are we?” She deliberately addressed her question to Annalise. “The gentlemen didn’t let us prove our skill in the preparation of our meal. We must prove our worth in keeping up with them on the trail.” She gave the girl a sweet smile.

She could see Annalise hesitating, glancing at her brother and back to Cherish.

“We’ll help carry you back, Miss Townsend, if you weary,” Andrew offered, with Ted agreeing.

Cherish saw the look in her eye, like that of someone who knows she’s trapped and has no recourse but to put the bravest face on circumstances and carry on with good grace. Cherish’s conscience fought with her desire to thwart Annalise’s will.

“Very well,” Annalise said quietly.

As Warren oversaw stowing the hampers away in the wagons, Silas wandered over to Cherish.

“Do you really think it’s such a good idea to take a long hike after that meal, and with so many ladies present? I know
you
can do it, but what about the others? They’re probably not used to the activity you are.”

“Oh, Silas, don’t be such a ninny. What’s an hour’s walk?”

He shook his head at her, his face unsmiling. “What happens if one of these ladies twists her ankle? It’s all very well to say we’ll carry her down, but reality is quite a different matter from some fool’s romantic notion—”

Before she had time to do more than make a face at his concerns, Warren was calling them to the hiking trail.

Cherish breathed in the spicy scent of balsam and spruce as they trudged over the floor of dried fir needles. She tried to convince herself the day wasn’t a complete fiasco, but she had a hard time ignoring the sting of Silas’s words. He hadn’t spoken two words to her the entire time, and when he finally did, it was only to reprimand her as if she were a child.

For the second time that day, tears threatened to spill over, and she brushed at her eyes impatiently. Why was he so concerned about Annalise’s welfare, anyway? For that was what it boiled down to, didn’t it? He didn’t care two pins for any of the rest of them. It was precious, shy Annalise Townsend who concerned him. It used to be Cherish who held that place.

She grabbed a tree branch to help her up the path. What had begun as easy and wide soon became narrow and steep, so they had to walk in single file.

By the time they reached the summit, the group was quiet for the most part, tired and footsore. The mid-May temperature was not yet too high, but the day was sunny and the climb had them feeling warm.

“Oh, how breathtaking!” Cherish gazed down at the lake from the bare rock promontory Warren led her to. Down below was the lake—a flat, shiny mirror, only a portion of the vast body of water visible through the heavy forest surrounding it.

“This was worth the climb, wouldn’t you say?” She turned to Ted, who stood on her other side.

“I should say so! And we’re none the worse for it, are we?” He turned to the ones straggling up the trail. Last came Annalise, leaning heavily on Silas’s arm.

“Annalise! Are you all right?” Warren asked, walking quickly toward his sister.

“Yes, quite all right,” she answered. “It’s just that I wore these new boots.”

Silas led her to a large rock.

“Oh, it feels good to sit down,” she said with a sigh.

“Why don’t you take the boots off?” Warren asked, crouching at his sister’s feet. “I can pour cool water over your feet from my canteen.”

She shook her head. “I’m afraid if I take them off I’ll never get them back on again. Let me just sit here a moment.”

Cherish’s feelings warred between irritation and compassion. This time the latter won out. She walked over to Annalise and perched on the seat beside her. “I’m awfully sorry. I didn’t realize you weren’t wearing comfortable shoes.”