“See? No harm done.”
He pushed his coffee cup forward. “Uh, you can put it in here,” he said, his voice sounding strange.
She let the sugar crystals fall from her hand into the awaiting cup. Then she brushed her hands off over the table. “So what is planned down at the yard for today?”
Her father answered, “We’re continuing to build the frame for the schooner. We’ll probably start some of the crossbeams in preparation for laying the decks.” He folded his newspaper as Cherish sat down. “Silas tells me he’ll be readying the lumber for the Whitehall mold in the shop this afternoon.”
“He?” She turned to Silas as Aunt Phoebe came in with a stack of pancakes. “You mean ‘we,’ don’t you, Silas?”
He didn’t meet her gaze. “If it’s all right with your father.”
She looked at him openmouthed. All right with her father?
“Flapjacks hot off the griddle,” Aunt Phoebe said, setting down the steaming platter. “Help yourselves.” She stuck the serving fork into Silas’s hand.
“Papa, I shall be working with Silas on the Whitehall. I told you about that last week.”
“On lofting it, not building it,” he reminded her as he helped himself to pancakes from the platter Silas held for him. He then passed them to Cherish. She served herself absently.
“Well, Silas and I agreed we’d spend afternoons in the shop after he’s had his morning down on the yard and I’ve had mine helping Aunt Phoebe.” She gave her aunt a smile. “Speaking of which, can I prepare a special dessert for dinner today?” She tried to think what Silas would like.
“Certainly. We’ll be baking this morning. You can help me fry up some doughnuts after we’ve set the bread to rise.”
“Mmm!” her father said. “Nothing like some hot doughnuts and coffee. Bring some down to the shop when you come, Cherish. Speaking of which, I’d prefer to have Silas work down in the yard today and the next few days to finish the framing. We need to get started with the planking.”
Cherish frowned. “You mean he can’t work on the lofting for the next few days?” she began, dismay in her voice.
“Before you start in, I’d better tell you the rest.”
“The rest?” she asked, her mind gearing up to argue against whatever new obstacle her father threw into her plans.
“Don’t give me that look, dear. It’s good news.”
“What is it, Papa?” Cherish laid down the maple syrup.
“You two must have made such a good impression on the Townsends that they’ve invited both of you for the weekend.”
Cherish’s eyes lit up and she turned to Silas, who was looking at her father as if his mouthful of pancakes had just turned to pig slop.
“Oh, what fun! Silas and I, both, to go over to Hatsfield and spend the weekend with them?”
“That’s right, dear,” he answered, wiping his mouth and throwing down the napkin. “They have all kinds of activities planned with some other young people, a boat outing on Whittier’s Lake, games and dancing, church on Sunday and then you can sail back that afternoon.” He rose.
“So I need Silas down on the yard working on the stocks if he hopes for time off this weekend.”
“I don’t need to go over to Hatsfield, Mr. Winslow…” Silas began as soon as he’d swallowed his food.
Mr. Winslow contemplated him silently a few seconds. “I appreciate your attitude, Silas. However, in this case, you would also be serving the shipyard with your weekend at the Townsends’. Don’t forget, we need their business.”
The two men looked at each other an instant longer. Finally Silas’s gaze fell to his plate. “Very well, sir.”
“I appreciate your loyalty.” Winslow took a final sip of coffee. “Ready to go? Otherwise, I’ll see you down on the yard.” He took up his folded newspaper and headed for the door. “Don’t forget to bring us some doughnuts, Cherish.”
“I won’t, Papa. I’ll be down later,” she answered as she took up a forkful of pancake, wondering why Silas had appeared reluctant to go to Hatsfield this weekend. Perhaps he didn’t care so much about Annalise Townsend after all?
She glanced at Silas, who seemed intent on finishing his breakfast in record time. Before she could engage him in conversation, he stood.
Aunt Phoebe said to him, “Don’t forget to collect your clean laundry on the way out.”
“Yes, thank you,” he answered, already heading for the kitchen.
“I’ve put everything in a satchel by the door,” she said to his departing back. “Mercy, he seemed in an awful hurry all of a sudden. Wonder if it was that invitation your father just mentioned. Though I’d think he’d like an outing. He doesn’t get together with enough young folks his age. Hangs about all day with those rough men down on the yard.
“Now, we are going to try your hand at dinner rolls today,” she said, turning her attention to the morning’s baking.
“That sounds interesting,” Cherish answered, her mind on the coming weekend. Two whole days in Silas’s company. Her thoughts flitted briefly to Annalise, but she decided she would do as Silas had asked her and befriend the girl. She would show Silas what a good friend she could be.
She wondered vaguely if the invitation had been Warren Townsend’s idea. He was a very good-looking and personable young man. She ought to be swept off her feet. Instead, she wondered how she would endure two days in his company. And how was she going to prevent being paired off with him again?
She pondered the situation as she ate her breakfast. She’d need to come up with a strategy before the weekend.
Cherish came down the wooden stairs that led from the boat shop to the beach. She picked her way through the rubble, stepping over piles of lumber stacked above the high-water line.
“Hey there, Cherish, need somethin’?” one of the shipwrights called down to her. He was standing above her on the scaffolding against the schooner hull, a mallet in his hand.
“Good morning, William. I thought you men might like some freshly made doughnuts.” She removed the gingham cloth from the basket she carried and showed him. “See?”
“Oh, they look mighty good,” he replied. “Why don’t you come on up here so we can sample ’em?”
He met her on the ramp that led up to the scaffolding platform and escorted her the rest of the way. Wiping his sweaty forehead with a handkerchief, he took a sugary doughnut from the basket. “Thank you kindly.” After the first bite, he wiped his mouth with the back of his forearm and said, “Mmm. That is some good. You make them all by yourself?”
“Well, Aunt Phoebe helped.”
“That woman can bake a stone and make it come out tasting good.”
“Let me offer Ezra some.” She moved toward the other man farther down the platform. “Where’s Silas?” she asked him after he’d taken a doughnut.
Ezra pointed with his doughnut down into the skeletal hull. “Down fitting the ‘knees’ between the crossbeams.”
Cherish chatted a few moments with the two men. They were both middle-aged with grizzled hair and skin as brown and cracked as baked mud, from years working in the sun. They’d known her since she was a babe and she treated them as uncles.
She wrapped a few of the doughnuts in a separate napkin and left the basket with the men with a parting encouragement to eat them while they were still warm.
She climbed back down the wooden ramp laid diagonally alongside the hull. Once back on the beach, she hiked up her skirt and climbed into the cavernous hull. It was still only a structure of vertical ribs, the sunlight coming through in bands. Spying Silas down near the stern, she made her way there, carefully stepping along the keelson.
Silas was standing on a ladder set against the ribbing. He didn’t hear her approach over the banging of his mallet against the wood above his head. She watched him pounding trunnels into the holes that had been bored into the wood.
When he stopped a moment, Cherish welcomed the stillness.
“Ahoy, mate,”
she said.
He swiveled around on the ladder. “What are you doing here?” Before she could answer, he added, “How did you get in?”
“I walked.”
“You could have tripped or fallen.”
“Well, I didn’t. Don’t scold so.”
He began descending the ladder. “You didn’t answer my question. What are you doing here?”
“You didn’t give me a chance to.” She swung the gingham napkin in front of him. “I brought you this, but if that’s the way you’re going to greet someone who’s brought you a tasty morsel, I may reconsider. I’ve already been told by both Ezra and Will that they are delicious,” she added as she watched him shove the mallet through the belt at his waist and eye the doughnuts she held out on the napkin.
“What’s the matter? Think I put sawdust in them?”
He shook his head as if waking up. “No, of course not.”
He wiped his hands down the sides of his pant legs and asked in a friendlier tone, “So, how is the baking coming?”
“You might say I’m excelling in the culinary arts,” she replied, handing him a doughnut. “But you be the judge.”
Their fingers touched as he took hold of the doughnut. As he took his first bite, she brought her fingertips up to her lips and licked off the sugar crystals that clung to them. He watched her as he chewed. Abruptly he looked away.
He finished the doughnut.
“Here,” she said, handing him her handkerchief from her pocket.
“Thanks.” He took it and wiped his mouth.
“You missed a spot.” She took the handkerchief from him and rubbed it against his chin. “There.” She stepped back and looked around for a place to sit between the ribs.
“Careful you don’t get your skirt soiled,” he warned her, his eyes watching her every move. She arranged her skirts, feeling a curious thrill inside her.
“Don’t worry. It’s an old skirt.”
“Saving all your finery for the big weekend?”
She cocked her head at him, considering his tone. Could he perhaps be jealous of Warren Townsend? She propped her chin in her hand. “I haven’t yet decided on my wardrobe for the weekend. You didn’t seem too anxious this morning to be pulled away from here to enjoy the Townsends’ hospitality.”
“I’ve got a lot of work to do.”
“All work and no play makes Silas a dull boy,” she commented, picking up one of the doughnuts from the napkin in her lap and eyeing it. It had come out perfect, round and plump, its little hole almost closed up in the middle. She took a small bite. Delicious. Light and slightly sweet with a hint of nutmeg. Aunt Phoebe had been right in her exacting attitude toward cooking.
“Am I a dull boy?”
“Hmm?” She brought her mind back to the conversation. She tilted her head at Silas as she held the doughnut near her lips. He was examining the drill bit on the end of the drill with what appeared to be the utmost concentration.
“Let’s just say you’re in danger of becoming one.” She set the doughnut back down on the napkin and brushed off her fingertips. “But don’t worry. Cherish has arrived and will save you.”
Instead of replying, he climbed back up the ladder and positioned the drill against a timber.
“How is it coming?” she asked, standing up and approaching the base of the ladder.
“Fine.”
“So I see. Where were we? Oh yes, saving Silas van der Zee from becoming dull as dishwater—or should I say, in this case, bilgewater?”
He stopped drilling and eyed her from his perch. “What’s the remedy, Dr. Winslow?”
“For starters, you will enjoy fun and relaxation this weekend in Hatsfield.”
“Is that an order?”
“Yes. Consider it so. Part of the regimen.”
“From you or from your father?”
She looked at him nonplussed. “Are you upset with Papa for wanting you to go to Hatsfield this weekend?”
“No.” His tone didn’t sound convincing.
“He only wants you to have some fun.”
“He only wants us to ingratiate ourselves with the Townsends.”
“What’s wrong with cultivating their friendship along with their business?”
“Nothing, as long as you enjoy their company in the process.”
She pondered his meaning. “Don’t you enjoy their company?” she asked with a sly smile. “I thought you liked Annalise.”
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.
Chapter Seven
“Warren 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.
Lilac Spring Page 8
