Lilac Spring. Ruth Axtell Morren
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rubbing the back of his hand against his nose. His thick golden hair fell over his forehead as he bent over the smooth pieces of wood that fitted together in descending order.
“Are you your mama’s little gent’man now your papa’s gone to heaven?”
He scoffed. “I’m too big to be a little gentleman.”
“Are you going to be a gent’man when you grow up?” Papa said she was going to marry a gent’man when she grew up.
“Naw! I’m going to build boats.”
She smiled. “I am, too!”
He turned his head toward her as if seeing her for the first time. Instead of laughing at her the way Papa did whenever she told him, he looked interested. “You like boats?”
“I love boats!”
“Your father is going to teach me how to build boats.”
She nodded. She’d heard Papa talking about the ’prentice.
He focused on the model again, running his forefinger down the sheer of the gunwale. “Some day I’m going to design them, too,” he said softly, reverently. He seemed not to be talking to her, but to himself.
“Me, too,” she replied at once, wanting to bring his attention back to her, although she wasn’t quite sure what “design” meant. That was okay. If the new boy could do it, so could she.
“What’s your name?” she asked, taking a liking to him despite his aloofness. He was nice, not like those big bullies at the schoolhouse.
“Silas.”
“I’m Cherish.”
“Cherish.” He turned his gray eyes on her again. “That’s a funny name.”
“It is not!”
He grinned, revealing even white teeth against the honey-hued skin of his face. “Do people call you Cherry?”
“No! My name is Cherish ’lizabeth Winslow.”
“Cherish Elizabeth Winslow,” he repeated. “That sounds too grown-up for you. How old are you, Cherry?”
“Cherish,” she corrected, and held up her fingers. “I’m five and a half.”
He nodded.
“How old are you?”
His thin chest puffed out. “I’m twelve.”
She remembered his red-rimmed eyes. He hadn’t seemed so grown-up then. She looked down at her doll. “Here. You can have Annie. She’s good for wiping tears. See?” She picked up a limp rag arm and wiped her eyelid in pretend fashion. “I use her a lot.”
He frowned, forced to take the doll she’d thrust at him. Before he had a chance to do anything with it, they were interrupted by her father’s voice.
“Silas! What are you up to?”
Silas jumped down from the stool he’d been straddling. “Nothing, sir.”
“You’re not here to loaf but to learn a trade. Now, go stow your gear upstairs and report down at the yard.”
“Hello, Papa.” Cherish climbed down more slowly from the stool. “I was talking with Silas.”
Her father gave her cheek a soft pinch when she reached him. “Cherish, sweetheart, haven’t I told you more than once to stay out of Papa’s boat shop? This is a place for men.”
“I’m going to ’sign boats,” she told him, ignoring the scolding.
He chuckled, taking her by the hand and leading her toward the door. “You’re going to learn to be a lady and marry a handsome gentleman. Run on home now to Mama. Papa’ll see you at dinner.”
As he walked her to the door, she realized her other hand was empty and she remembered she’d given Annie away. She gave one last, longing look toward the drafting table, but there was no sign of her doll. She remembered Silas’s hunched back and the sight of red-rimmed eyes and she shrugged away her sense of loss. He needed Annie more than she right now.
Chapter One
May 1875
Cherish paused on the threshold of the boat shop. The smell of cedar wood tickled her nostrils. She breathed deeply of its lemony, spicy fragrance and smiled. Home.
The rays of the late-afternoon sun pierced the tops of the ancient fir trees across the inlet and shone through the windows of the boat shop, picking up the dust motes and bringing a golden gleam to the wooden frames of the boat hulls laid upside down in various stages of construction. Her eyes didn’t linger on these; there’d be time enough to examine the works in progress. She was interested only in the shop’s lone occupant.
Silas stood at a worktable. Intent on his task, he leaned his wiry frame against a plane as he pushed it against a plank of wood. A curling cedar shaving emerged from the tool and dropped to the floor, a floor littered with a hundred others.
“Hello, Silas,” she said softly.
His eyelids rose and she was the focus of those gray eyes—the turbulent green-hued gray of a stormy sea.
“Cherish!” A smile broke out on his face, transforming it from a frown of intense concentration to an expression of boyish delight.
Cherish felt a slight easing of the tension that had been building with each mile she’d traveled closer to Haven’s End. After days across the Atlantic and a night up the coast from Boston, she’d finally arrived back at her home port.
She stood motionless a moment longer, wanting him to take a good look at her. The golden afternoon light shone on her. She knew the slate-blue of her gown complemented her complexion and eyes. She was glad she’d had the outfit made in Paris, just before her departure.
Every item was in place. She’d brushed and redressed her hair just before disembarking. She knew how to read men’s appreciation—she’d learned in the countless European capitals she’d visited in the past year. Now she wanted to read it in the only eyes that mattered.
He laid down his plane and took a step toward her. “We didn’t expect you until tomorrow. I would have come to meet you, but I knew your father would want to have you all to himself.”
“That’s all right. I’d rather say hello to you right here.” How she wanted to run to her childhood companion and throw herself into his arms. But suddenly she felt shy. She was no longer a girl in pigtails but a young lady he hadn’t seen in over two years. Oh, how desperately she wanted him to see the changes in her.
So with deliberate steps, those years of balancing a heavy tome on her head at the young ladies’ academy paying off, Cherish walked toward Silas. Her skirt rustled, from its ruched panels down to its pleated hem. She carried a small parasol in one hand, swinging it lightly to and fro as she neared him.
When they stood face-to-face, she stretched out her hands to him, still seeking that appreciation in his eyes. It was there…yet, was it?
“How did you get here?” he asked, smiling at her, his hands clasping hers. “Your father said you were sailing in tomorrow. Does he even know you’re here?”
She shook her head slowly from side to side, smiling all the while. Did he see how ladylike she’d become since he’d last seen her? Did he notice her hair swept up under the stylish little hat perched atop the ringlets cascading behind her head?
“I took a steamer out of Boston a day early and caught a ride with Captain Stanley on the schooner Emerald out of Eastport. I just arrived. My trunks are still down on the wharf,” she added, unable to restrain the laughter bubbling out of her.
His gray eyes were alight with amusement. How she’d missed that look! “Your father’s planning a big homecoming tomorrow.”
“I