Lilac Spring. Ruth Morren Axtell
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…”
“As we should be entitled to,” she countered.
“Oh, well, I’m not going to debate that with you this morning. It’s too fine a day and I’m too happy to have you back home again.” He coughed. “I just want you to promise me you’ll give young Townsend a second look. You’ve hardly known the man long enough to form an opinion.”
“That’s true,” she conceded. “I promise to withhold judgment on ‘young Warren Townsend the Third’ until further acquaintance.”
Ignoring her teasing tone, he said, “Good girl. I can’t ask for more than that. Now, why don’t you sail over with me to Hatsfield tomorrow? You can meet the Townsends again. Their daughter was about your age, wasn’t she?”
Cherish stopped herself from making a face as she thought of the insipid girl who could hardly get two words out without blushing and stammering. “Yes.”
“They’re a very nice family. They bought out McKinley’s Sawmill. They own a lot of timberland up-country. Townsend has plans for a few schooners to ship the lumber to Boston and farther on down the coast.”
Cherish’s interest perked up. “Maybe he’d contract us to build the schooners…although there are shipyards he could go to in Hatsfield.”
“Precisely.” Her father looked pleased at her acumen. “So far, I’ve managed only a nodding acquaintance with him. That should change now you’re here.”
“How so?”
“Well, Townsend’s offspring are about your age. Perhaps you could cultivate the friendship by planning a few parties and outings, now it’s summer weather, and invite them along.”
“Certainly, Papa, if you think it would help.” Cherish clasped her hands before her on the table. “Papa?”
“Yes, my dear?” He eyed her fondly.
“I’d like to help you out here in the shop.”
“Why, you’ve just helped. If you play hostess for me, you can’t imagine the benefits that could result.”
“I’d enjoy that. But Papa, what I mean by helping is that I want to work here, as I’ve done in the past, but now that I’m finished with school, I want you to consider me a permanent helper—the way you did with Cousin Henry.”
Her father’s face soured. “Don’t talk to me about that ungrateful boy! After all the training I gave him, to up and leave me. Thinks he’s found greener pastures down in Boston. He’ll find out soon enough,” warned Winslow.
“You can’t blame him for wanting to work in a large shipyard where they’re building steamships. He sees the future there, and perhaps he’s right.”
“Those tramp steamers can’t compete over long distances with our three-masted schooners. They’ve got to fill half their hulls with coal. Think of the expense. And when their coal runs out, they’re dead in the water.”
“Yes, I know, Papa. I think there’ll always be a place for the sailing ship, but you can’t fault Henry for his ambition.”
Her father stared gloomily past her. “I groomed him to take over the shipyard, and now where am I? Certainly not getting any younger. He was the only family member left, the only one showing any promise for the business.”
“You have Silas.”
“What’s that?” He turned startled eyes toward her.
“I said, you have Silas. He can do anything Henry did. You know he can go beyond Henry. He can be more than a shipwright. You know he could design his own vessels given half the chance. He probably has half a dozen designs in his head.”
“Whoa, Cherish, you slow down. Silas works down in the yard. He’s a fine worker with a good understanding of ship’s carpentry, but don’t expect me to hand this shipyard over to him.” He turned back to his drawing.
Stifling her desire to argue further, she said instead, “Anyway, we were talking about me—about my working here.”
Her father sat back and folded his hands on the desk. “As to you, my dear, I know you’ve always had a hankering for boats and hanging around the shipyard, and I’ve indulged you in a good many ways, but you’re no longer a little girl. You’re a young lady. I’ve given you the best education money can buy just so you could go out in polite society and hold your head high, knowing you’re as good as—better than—most ladies around here.”
“I appreciate all you’ve given me, but Papa, what I really want is to work with you.”
“Don’t be silly. A shipyard is no place for a lady.”
Cherish felt her temper rise, and she prayed for composure. “In that case, I relinquish my claims to the title ‘lady.’”
“It’s a little late for that,” he said dryly. “Do you