Lilac Spring

“Cherish!” Tom Winslow, a handsome, dark-haired man, hailed his daughter from the drive where he walked alongside a tall young man with a young lady at his side.

Before Silas could disengage himself, Cherish tugged at his arm, pulling him along with her as she descended the porch steps, where the trio reached them.

Her father said, “I want you to meet Mr. Warren Townsend from Hatsfield and his sister, Annalise. They’ve driven all the way over especially to welcome you back.”

Cherish held out her hand first to the sister, a pretty, brown-haired girl, who wore spectacles.

“Pleased, I’m sure,” Cherish said before turning to the young gentleman. He was at least half a head taller than either Silas or her father and wore a well-cut tweed suit. “Mr. Townsend, welcome to our home.”

“Annalise and I have heard so much about you from your father that we wanted to make the acquaintance mutual as soon as you came home.”

Cherish smiled at her father. “Papa has probably exaggerated half the details, but I am grateful for the chance to present myself in person so you may separate fact from fantasy.” She turned to Silas, including him in the group. “This is Silas van der Zee, Papa’s most gifted shipwright.” After shaking hands all around, Silas was content to let Cherish do the talking.

He marveled to see how the year of finishing school had “finished” her, and the year on the Continent had given her an unmistakable presence. Gone were any remnants of the girl he remembered. He doubted she would be the same Cherish who would be content to get her hands dirty in the boat shop.

“Well, I’ll let you young people get acquainted,” Mr. Winslow said with a chuckle before moving away from the group.

“You have just returned from the Continent?” Mr. Townsend asked Cherish.

“Yes. My year abroad,” she said in a laughing tone that disparaged the event.

“I was there a few years ago.”

Cherish’s eyes widened in delight. “Truly? Where did you travel?”

“London, Paris, Vienna—all the capitals. We also had a wonderful time touring the Black Forest, the Swiss Alps and down the coast of Italy.”

“Oh, yes, aren’t those regions beautiful? I was so charmed by the scenery. I remember a perfect afternoon boating on Lac Léman. I must try to paint it some day from my sketches.”

“Yes, I was there, too. Château de Chillon.”

“Couldn’t you just picture Byron’s words?”

As the two continued chatting about mutual experiences in Europe, Silas glanced over at Annalise Townsend, who looked mutely from her brother’s face to Cherish’s. He judged her to be about Cherish’s age—nineteen.

“Have you been to the Continent as well, Miss Townsend?” he asked, wondering if she felt as out of place as he did. Although she, too, was fashionably dressed in a gown with a bustle, her outfit was somber in comparison to Cherish’s.

She shook her head silently. After a moment, as if realizing it was her turn to contribute to the conversation, she asked, “Have you?”

Silas had to bend forward to hear her soft tone. “No, I haven’t.” Then he grinned. “Would you like me to get you some refreshment? There is a delicious assortment of food inside.”

She looked hesitatingly at her brother. Cherish, having heard his question, turned to them. “Why don’t we all have something? The gentlemen can get us each a plate—how about that?” Before anyone could counter the suggestion, she took Annalise by the arm and led her toward the veranda.

About an hour later Cherish leaned against the veranda railing, eyeing the guests on the lawn. Several couples were ranged about croquet wickets set in the grass.

After eating with her and the Townsends in the parlor, Silas had excused himself and wandered off. She spotted him now, down on the lawn in conversation with a couple of men.

She was only half-sorry. If he’d stayed with her any longer, how much better acquainted would he have become with Miss Townsend? He certainly had a knack with the shy young lady, even getting her to smile now and again.

Cherish stifled a yawn, glancing to her side. Mr. Townsend still stood there, as if awaiting her next move. He reminded her so much of the dozens of young men she’d met in Europe—so proper, so “Yes, Miss Winslow. No, Miss Winslow. Here, let me get that for you, Miss Winslow.” She sometimes felt she’d drown in a sea of politeness.

She smiled at him, conscious of her duties as hostess. “Why don’t we play a round of croquet? Would you and your sister like that?”

At his ready assent, she led them both down to the yard, heading toward Silas to invite him along. If he thought he was going to spend the afternoon talking with a bunch of men he saw practically every day when she’d been deprived of his company for over two years, he could think again. And she’d make sure he’d be her partner! Mr. Townsend could assist his sister.

She and Silas had a lot of catching up to do.

Chapter Two

The next morning Cherish entered her father’s office and breathed a sigh of relief to see him alone.

“Good morning, Papa. I’m sorry I missed you at breakfast. I was lazy this morning.”

“Hello, Cherish! As well you should be, only your second full day back. What are you doing down here? Your aunt want something?”

“No, nothing. Only to have me stay inside cooking and cleaning, but I escaped her.”

He chuckled. “Well, I suppose it’s not a bad idea to have her teach you a few things. I know she’s been after you, and I’ve been pretty indulgent with you since your mother passed away.”

Cherish patted his hand. Although it had been four years since her dear mama had succumbed to influenza, they both still felt the void she’d left behind. Even though his sister had taken over the housekeeping, things had never been the same.

Her father sighed. “Well, no matter. I want you to enjoy your summer. There’s plenty of time to think of other things.”

Cherish brought a chair over, to sit across the table from her father. Relieved, she looked at the plan he had been reviewing. “A new boat?”

“Yes, a forty-five-foot pinky.” He tapped the end of his pencil against the paper. “Charles Whitcomb’s commissioned it. He’ll use it up and down the coast for the herring trade and cod fishing. It’s not much of a boat, but I’m glad to have the job.” He sighed. “Business has slowed a bit lately. It’s not like the old days.”

Cherish studied the three profiles of the hull: side view, plan view and forward-and-aft view. “When will you lay the keel?”

“In a few weeks. I need to order the wood and draw up the loft mold.” He sat back, a smile creasing his face. At fifty-two, her father was still a good-looking man. His dark brown hair was thick, interspersed with only a few strands of gray. “I thought I’d go see what Townsend has in his lumberyard. You met his son yesterday. What did you think of him?”

“Nice enough, I suppose.”

“You don’t sound too enthusiastic.”

Cherish interlaced her fingers and extended her arms in front of her. “To be honest, he seemed a duplicate of most of the young gentlemen I’ve met since I’ve been away.”

“What do you find so wrong with today’s young gentlemen?” her father asked in amusement.

She made a face. “They’re so bland, like milksops.”

“Oh, come,” her father chided. “I wouldn’t call young Townsend a milksop. He seems a fine, strapping gentleman with a good head on his shoulders, and a good future, I might add. I’d be proud to have someone like him for a son-in-law.”

“Oh, Papa, I’m only nineteen and just returned home. Are you marrying me off already?”

“Of course not. You’re right. You have plenty of time for courting.” He looked down at the lines drawing and made a notation on the table of offsets. Then his dark eyes pierced hers. “Your mother was your age when she married me. I suppose people married younger back then.

“Girls are too modern nowadays. Wearing bloomers, wanting the same higher education as men…”