Lilac Spring

He wiped his shirtsleeve against his forehead as he approached her. “Not quite so soon. You’ve only just arrived home.” He raised a brow skeptically. “Did you miss this place so much?”

Her eyes chided him. “This place and its people.”

He could feel himself flushing under her intent slate-blue gaze. For a second it seemed she was referring to him alone. Shaking aside the foolish notion, he observed, “At least I have less trouble recognizing you today.”

She glanced down at herself. “Yes, my gowns are all put away for the moment, though I suppose I’ll be diverting you tomorrow with a latest Parisian creation.”

“Don’t tell me—another party?”

She shook her head, but didn’t say anything more. Her tone turned brisk. “Papa has given me this half-hull for a thirteen-foot Whitehall. He doesn’t think I’ll be able to loft it.” She grinned, suddenly transformed into the little girl he remembered, always out to prove she was as capable as the men around her.

He neared the table and reached for the model. As he did so, an elusive fragrance reached his nostrils. It reminded him of dew-sprinkled lilacs in June. He didn’t remember ever smelling perfume on Cherish before.

He cleared his throat and turned his mind back to the boat in front of him.

“Well, you certainly tagged after Henry enough to know everything he knew. But it’s been two years since you’ve stepped into a boat shop. Aren’t you afraid you’ve forgotten a few things?”

She touched the model with a fingertip. “I think it’s one of those things that isn’t easily forgotten. Just looking at this hull brings back all sorts of recollections.”

She gave him a sidelong glance, mischief lighting the blue depths of her eyes. “Anyway, we are going to loft this together.”

“We?” He quirked an eyebrow up. “Since when am I a draftsman?”

“Since Henry left…and Papa has no immediate plans to replace him.”

Silas was surprised. “He doesn’t?”

She shook her head, sending the little dangling earrings with their minute turquoise stones shaking. Then she frowned. “He says at present he doesn’t need anyone else. He told me it has been slow around here. Has it?”

Silas looked out the square-paned window that overlooked the shipyard below. The tide was out, leaving smooth mudflats visible, with rivulets of water running between them in crooked lines down toward the sea.

“Yes, I suppose it has, this past year especially. We used to average three good-sized vessels a year, up to seven-hundred-ton ships, in addition to the smaller craft.” He nodded down at the stocks. “That’s a fifty-ton schooner—small for us—and it’s the only sizable order this spring. Everything else is like this.” He motioned toward the model on the table.

“Do you think things will pick up?” she asked.

“Hard to say. There’s still a lot of building going on farther down the coast.”

“Do you think Henry was right to head south?”

He shrugged. “Some say the days of sail are numbered. The opening of the Suez Canal in ’69 spelled the beginning of the end for the clipper trade.”

“But what about us here down east? Apart from the passenger steamer service from Boston and Portland, we don’t see much use for steam. All the fishermen sail, even out to the Grand Banks.”

“Yes, I think there’s still a demand for the smaller fishing schooners and those used in the coastal trade. But eventually I see even those supplementing their vessels with steam.” He shrugged. “And more and more of the larger schooners are being built with steel hulls. I don’t know if they’ll prove more successful than wood, but the fact is, shipping companies look at cost. The steel hull will probably last longer than the wood. Most of the larger ships’ hulls are now steel reinforced.”

Cherish turned back to the model. “Oh, well, let’s hope these changes don’t come too quickly. Right now we have a loft to lay out and a mold to build.”

He looked down at her indulgently, encouraged as always by her optimism. “There’s that word ‘we’ again. Do you propose to help me build the mold?”

“If you’re agreeable.”

He didn’t say anything, not wanting to dash her hopes. He realized as he watched her that it was good to have her back—even an adult version of the girl who’d seek him out every chance she got and “discuss” things with him, from every aspect of boats to the latest storybook character she had read about.

“Your father has agreed to this?” he asked finally, his arms folded in front of him.

“Don’t worry about Papa. I’ll take care of him.”

“You’ve been taking care of him quite some years now. I wonder if he’ll ever discover it.”

“Papa doesn’t know the talent he has right under his roof. So it looks as if, now that I’m back, I shall have to show him.” When he didn’t reply, she continued. “You ought to be Papa’s successor. If he can’t see that, well, he will, if I have anything to say about it.”

He turned away his gaze, not reminding her of his own dream—she probably didn’t even remember it. “I still have to be down on the yard,” he reminded her instead.

“So spend your mornings there.” She stood and went to the window. “There are more than enough men down there. You said yourself things were slow. There’s no reason you can’t spend your afternoons up here.” She turned to him, making a face. “I have agreed to spend my mornings with Aunt Phoebe, learning to run a house. But after that, I’m free. Papa said I could help out here.”

“You have it all worked out.”

She gave him a secret smile. “Papa will be convinced, you’ll see. He’ll realize your talent, and he’ll see I have a head for business. He’s already taking me with him to Hatsfield tomorrow to visit the Townsends’ operation.”

So that’s what she’d meant about her fashionable attire.

“Apropos, do you know anything of the Townsends? They were at the party yesterday.”

“Not much. Townsend’s a lumber baron. They’re important in Hatsfield—that’s about all I know.”

“I shall charm them with my European polish, and they will order a fleet of coastal schooners from our yard.”

He frowned at the sudden picture of Cherish laughing and batting her thick, dark lashes at the tall, handsome, impeccably groomed Warren Townsend.

The next morning Cherish took extra care with her toilette, wearing a deep rose gown with white ruffle collar and cuffs. She stuck in a pair of coral earrings and pulled her hair back in a thick coil, knowing the sail would play havoc with anything fancier. She pinned on a pert straw hat with ribbons that matched the gown and pulled back the short net veil. Then, she clipped on a matching pair of gold bracelets she’d purchased in Florence.

She and her father rode in their buggy along the road down to the harbor. From the top of a slope they could see the village of Haven’s End set snug against a hilly curve of land. White houses nestled along its edges and up the surrounding hills. Three long wharves jutted out from the land into the protected harbor, which was filled with moored boats. Beyond, at its mouth, lay a wooded island.

Her father dropped her off at the harbor and went to stable the horse and buggy. Silas was waiting on the wharf, dressed in a creamy, cabled sweater and pea jacket. Although the May day promised to warm up, Cherish knew it would be cold on the water. She had brought along a duffel coat, which she carried on one arm.

“Good morning,” she greeted him.

“Good morning,” he replied, his gray eyes taking in her appearance. “You’re looking smart.”

If the compliment wasn’t all she’d hoped for, at least it was a compliment. Her efforts had been worth it. “Thank you,” she answered demurely.

He took her coat and parasol, and she climbed down the catwalk after him to the awaiting skiff. Silas held out his hand to her as she stepped into the bobbing boat. Her father returned and loosened the painter before joining them.

She settled aft and waited for her father to descend. He coiled the line and gave a nod to Silas to shove off.

Silas sat forward and pulled at the oars, heading toward her father’s pinky schooner moored amidst the other fishing boats in the harbor.

As soon as they arrived, Silas jumped aboard the schooner, and her father threw him the line. When the skiff lay alongside the pinky, her father climbed in and turned to help Cherish in. She took the line from her father. “I’ll secure it,” she told him.