Lilac Spring. Ruth Axtell Morren

hope you’re hungry,” Cherish told him, her blue eyes laughing up at him. “I was in the kitchen since dawn with Aunt Phoebe until it was time to get ready for church.”

      “That right, Miss Cherish?” Jacob piped up. “What goodies you ladies been preparing for us starvin’ menfolk?”

      She turned to him. “Roast chicken, mashed potatoes, pickled beets and biscuits.”

      “Well, bring it on and we’ll do it proud,” he exclaimed.

      After a delicious dinner, in which they all complimented Cherish on her cooking skills, Cherish made Silas promise that he would meet her out on the veranda later.

      He usually walked back down to the shipyard after Sunday dinner, but he sat a while making desultory conversation with Mr. Winslow. When the older man took up the paper to read, Silas made his way out to the front porch.

      He glanced around and decided to lounge on the two-person swing set at one end of the porch. He swung lazily on the seat, pushing back and forth with the heel of his boot, unaccustomed to idleness. In his free time he was usually whittling away on a ship model or cleaning out his boat.

      Just as he felt himself dozing, he heard the front door swing open and footsteps walking toward him. He shook aside the drowsiness and stood to help Cherish with the tray she carried.

      “I brought us some lemonade, in case we get thirsty.” She indicated where he should set the small tray down.

      “Everything done?”

      “All shipshape to Aunt Phoebe’s satisfaction,” she answered, settling herself beside him on the swing with a small leather-bound book beside her. A barn cat, which had come onto the veranda from around the house, jumped onto her lap.

      “Hello, puss, where’ve you been all morning? Out hunting mice?” The cat purred smoothly as Cherish stroked its gray fur.

      To hide the feelings Cherish’s proximity was creating in him, Silas pushed his feet against the wooden floor, bringing the swing back into motion. They rocked in silence for a few moments, listening to the creak of the swing.

      He was just managing to ignore her nearness, his eyes closed, his back resting against the seat, when Cherish asked him, “Do you have a sweetheart these days?”

      His eyes snapped open. Cherish sat observing him as her hand caressed the cat’s fur.

      “What?” Why was she asking such a question? Simple curiosity—or something more?

      “You heard me. Is there anyone occupying a special place in your heart?”

      He took his time in answering, unused to such personal inquiries. The men on the yard talked about the ships they were working on, the latest cargo in port, the price of lumber. Mrs. Sullivan made sure he was well fed and clothed and noted if he was looking “peaked.” Mr. Winslow cared only that he reported to work every day and carried out his duties. And all he, Silas, ever thought about was the feel of wood under his hands and the goal he was working toward.

      No one had ever asked about his heart. Finally he shook his head. “No.” Why had the answer been so difficult?

      “No one since Emma?” she asked softly, referring to his childhood sweetheart from back home.

      “I guess I’m married to my boats now.”

      “That’s silly. You can’t be married to boats.”

      He continued rocking the swing gently, looking down at the toes of his boots. “I haven’t thought about things like getting married, starting a family, or getting a place of my own since Emma passed away.” He spoke the next words slowly, articulating them for the first time. “I guess I decided then that marriage was not for me.”

      “That’s nonsense, Silas.” The chiding words were spoken gently.

      He shrugged. “I’m content with things as they are. I have my dream, and that’s enough for now.”

      “You have a wonderful dream, and I know it will be fulfilled, but that doesn’t mean you can’t want more.”

      He glanced at her again, surprised for the second time in the space of a few moments. She did remember his dream.

      But she continued speaking, not noticing his reaction. “Love is the highest thing you can experience.”

      He said nothing, the word making him uncomfortable.

      “You loved Emma.”

      “I was just a boy.” His fingers tugged at his collar, trying to think of another topic to distract Cherish.

      “Age has nothing to do with it. Just think, you were a boy of twelve and you promised yourself to a girl you’d known all your life, and you loved her faithfully all the years you were here. That’s not childish sentiment. It’s a beautiful, noble thing.”

      He turned away from her earnest gaze. “You’ve just become a romantic since seeing all those old castles.”

      “Love has nothing to do with seeing castles! I’ve always believed in love. I’ve just become old enough to express my views better now. And there is One Who agrees with me.” She tapped the cover of the book between them. “God. He has a lot to say about love.”

      “Yes, I know all about that kind of love…doing unto others….”

      She looked away from him. “That sounds like doing your duty. It’s so much more than that. It’s about loving one’s Savior. It’s an all-consuming love He has for us.”

      “You sound like Pastor McDuffie.”

      Her lips curved slightly. “He’s the one who began making me see that being a Christian was more than just going to church on Sunday or following the Golden Rule. Do you know what I discovered through him?” Her slate-blue irises were rimmed in a deeper hue that was almost black. “How wonderful it is to fall in love with God.”

      Silas turned away, her words leaving him feeling inadequate, as if he were missing some vital component in his makeup. The cat had climbed onto his lap, and he touched its fur, feeling the throb of its purr under his fingertips.

      “When one realizes the love Jesus poured out for us on that cross, it becomes easy to love Him back with every particle of one’s being, to hold nothing back, to say ‘Yes, Lord,’ when He asks something of us.” She picked up the Bible and hugged it to her breast. “Don’t tell me this is just romanticism. Love is our whole purpose for existing.”

      He wasn’t ready to concede any such thing. His mind went to the feel of a boat taking shape under his hands. That was life to him. He pushed the swing back with a jerk.

      The cat, disturbed by the motion, got up and jumped to the floor. It stretched its back and sauntered off.

      They swung in silence for a while.

      Cherish sighed. “God gave us the love between a man and a woman as an—” her hand fluttered out in search of the correct word “—extension of His love for us.”

      Again he didn’t know how to answer. “Someone will love you some day, Cherish, with the kind of love you yearn for.”

      She tipped her head to one side, regarding him steadily. “Do you think so?”

      “I’m sure of it,” he replied, wondering who that man would be and realizing he couldn’t conjure up any image of the man who would be good enough for her.

      “I hope you’re right,” she answered him, and set the book on her lap. “Don’t you want to be loved again? The way Emma loved you?”

      Her eyes searched his, and he had a fleeting sense of how much more wrenching and painful the death of a loved one would be to a man than to a boy. He turned away from Cherish and looked down the lawn toward the inlet beyond. The tide had filled it, just as Cherish’s words had filled his mind without any conscious resistance on his part.

      “I