Lilac Spring. Ruth Morren Axtell
He drew another line. “What’s up?”
She glanced at him. “What do you mean?”
“I know when something’s bothering you.”
“Nothing’s wrong.” She took up the chart and began studying it intently.
“Come on. You can tell ol’ Silas.”
“You’re imagining things.”
“What is it, Cherry?” he asked in a cajoling tone, using his childhood nickname for her.
“Don’t call me that! You know I can’t abide it!”
He thought of something. “Is it Townsend? He stuck by you most of the evening. Did he say anything to offend you?”
“No. He was the perfect gentleman.”
Silas frowned, remembering how good the two had looked dancing together, each one so elegantly attired. “Your father seems to think highly of him.”
“Perhaps justly so.”
“Yes, I’m sure,” he answered dryly. Seeing his questions were getting him nowhere, he gave up, telling himself Cherish was just in a mood. He’d heard women got into funny humors, although Cherish had never done so before she’d gone away. Maybe that was something she’d picked up on her travels.
But Cherish wasn’t ready to let the topic end. “I noticed you had no trouble dancing last night,” she said, and again Silas noticed the edge to her tone.
“Well, I couldn’t very well refuse Townsend’s request to dance with his sister.”
“You were very gracious to take her out onto the dance floor so many times. It’s a pity you couldn’t spare one dance for your hostess.”
Silas stared at Cherish. He read hurt in her unblinking gaze, and he finally understood. She had wanted him to dance with her.
He swallowed hard and turned away. How could he tell her he had deliberately avoided holding her in his arms?
He cleared his throat, his fingers fiddling with his pencil. She deserved an explanation, but he didn’t think she’d accept the only one he had.
“You were pretty busy on the dance floor all evening. I didn’t think you needed me to fill up your dance card.”
She turned away from him and resumed her work. He couldn’t tell whether she’d accepted his explanation or not.
“You’re right, Silas. I didn’t need you as a partner. I would have liked you as a partner.”
He had no reply to that. How much he would have liked her as a partner he knew only too well. And the less she knew of it, the better.
On the night of choir practice Cherish put on her hat and grabbed up her shawl to walk to the church. As she walked out the door after supper, she saw Silas walking up the front walk.
“You ready to go?” he asked her.
“You didn’t have to come all the way here to fetch me.” She had deliberately not reminded him of choir practice when they’d worked together in the boat shop earlier in the day.
He looked unbearably handsome, his dark golden hair brushed back from his forehead, his skin bronze against the collar of his white shirt. He wore no jacket, only a vest.
“Of course I was going to fetch you. Come on.” Not waiting for her reply, he turned back on the path.
They were quiet on the walk there. Halfway to the church they were joined by another couple going in the same direction.
“Evenin’, Cherish, Silas,” said the man, the woman beside him nodding with a smile.
“Evening, Billy,” Silas replied. “Going to choir practice?”
“Yep. Fine evening, ain’t it?”
“Sure is.”
“When you gonna launch that schooner?” Billy asked, indicating the ship in the stocks as they passed the boatyard.
“By summer’s end, we expect, or early in the autumn.”
“Don’t see any more keels being laid. Don’t you have any new orders for the summer?”
“We’re working on some dories in the workshop right now. Charles Whitcomb may commission a sloop.”
The man nodded. “Not like the old days when the yard was littered with hulls.”
The two men continued chatting as they neared the white clapboard church.
During the practice, Cherish stood with the women. The pastor wasn’t present—only his wife, Carrie, who played the piano. Another gentleman from the congregation directed them.
“Let’s turn to hymn number eighty,” he told them. They sang a rousing “All Hail the Power of Jesus’ Name” about half a dozen times before the man was satisfied.
By the time they left, Cherish thought the words to the hymns would be revolving in her head all evening. Several people walked along with her and Silas as they turned homeward.
“You don’t have to go with me. I’ll walk along with this group until I reach home,” she told him.
“I agreed to accompany you there and back, and that’s what I’m going to do,” he insisted.
She sighed. How nice it would have been if he’d said he would walk with her because he wanted to and not because he felt obliged to. Hugging the shawl around her, she contemplated the night sky, which was just turning a deep blue, its edges still pale and edged by a wash of orange where the sun had set.
“Chilly?” Silas asked softly.
She shook her head.
“I’ll be settin’ out my onions and taters tomorrow,” Billy said to them. “Too early for the squash and corn. We could still get a frost.”
“We have peas, radishes and lettuce coming up nicely,” Cherish told him. “Aunt Phoebe and I will probably be planting more seeds tomorrow.”
“’Spect we’ll have some rain in another day or two, so it’s the time to get some seed in the ground.”
They waved goodbye to the other couples when they reached Cherish’s gate. Silas followed her up the walk to the veranda. When they approached it, Cherish climbed up the first step before turning to bid him good-night.
He stood on the ground at eye level with her. “For the past few days you’ve been looking as if you’ve lost your best friend,” he said jokingly. “Don’t be sad. You’ve still got me.” His lips crooked upward in the dim light.
Her throat tightened at his words. He didn’t realize what he was saying. She had lost her best friend, who wasn’t even aware of it. She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes.
Not able to speak, she leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek, wanting somehow to express what she felt for him.
At the same instant Silas turned his head to hers and began saying “Good night.”
He never finished the words, as her pursed lips touched his half-open mouth. She could see his eyes widen with the shock of the contact.
She didn’t dare move, didn’t dare breathe. All that she could think was she never wanted the moment to end.
A second later he jerked back.
“Well,” she said, too awed by the contact to say anything more.
His eyes stared into hers, and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “I—I’m sorry about that,” he stuttered, taking a step away from her. “I’ll say good-night. I’ll—I’ll see you tomorrow.” Already he was hurrying down the path.
“Good