Lilac Spring. Ruth Axtell Morren

and she knew he understood. “Are you glad to see me?” she asked, her eyes searching his once again.

      “Of course I’m glad. The place isn’t the same without Cherry underfoot. But you must have had a grand time—a tour of the Continent. I’m surprised you wanted to come back.”

      She frowned. “Of course I wanted to come back. This is home.” This is where you are.

      “And you’ve come back quite the lady.”

      How she’d dreamed of this moment, when at last he’d see her as a woman.

      “Last time I saw you, you were still running around like a hoyden, banging up your fingers with hammer and nails, trailing after Henry to teach you everything about drafting.”

      “Do I look like a hoyden now?” She let go of his hands and turned around slowly as she’d seen the mannequins do in the House of Worth off the rue de la Paix.

      “You’re looking so grown-up I hardly recognized you.”

      Cherish experienced a moment of disappointment at his tone. There was admiration, certainly, but nothing more.

      Never mind, she thought, there was plenty of time. She was home for good this time.

      “Your father will have a fit when he knows you traveled unaccompanied from Eastport.” He frowned. “Did you come up by yourself all the way from Boston?”

      She put a finger to her lips. “Shh! There was an acquaintance of ours on board, so I was properly chaperoned. Anyway, I’m back, and that’s all that’s important. I wanted to say hello to you first, right here, just as when we first met.”

      He grinned. “You came nosing around to meet the new apprentice and caught him sniveling with homesickness and trying his best to act grown-up.”

      “You had a right to be homesick. You were only a boy.” She took her time examining him, looking for any changes during her two-year absence. His build was still slim and compact, but the lean frame was deceptive. Her glance strayed to his bare forearms. She remembered their corded muscles when they had pulled on a pair of oars across the harbor.

      He was in a vest and rolled-up shirtsleeves, his collar undone. His deep blond hair, thick and straight, was pushed away from his face, a face tanned from his hours down below in the yard. He’d always been a serious boy, but now his face showed a deepened maturity.

      “Do I pass inspection, Cherry?”

      She rolled her eyes. “Haven’t I finally outgrown that silly nickname?”

      He smiled wickedly. “What’s the matter? Remind you too much of the pesky brat you were?”

      Before she could take offense, he said, “Europe seems to have agreed with you.”

      It was about time he noticed. “It was wonderful. Are you glad to have me back?”

      “Sure, though I expect you’re too refined for the boat shop.”

      “Not at all.” She laid her parasol on a table, fighting the sense of letdown. Something was missing in his welcome. Stifling a sigh, Cherish turned her attention to the boat frames in the large room. “What are you working on?”

      “Oh, just finishing up these dories for a Gloucester schooner. We’ve laid the keel on a schooner down in the yard, now the good weather’s come.”

      She touched the wood he’d been planing. “I am going to be coming to the boat shop, you know.”

      He eyed her sidelong. “Is your father aware of this?”

      “Not yet. Not that I’ve ever hidden my intentions.”

      Silas brought her a stool and got one for himself. “Why don’t you tell old Silas all about it.”

      She felt on surer ground now. Silas was the only one who truly understood her yearning to be equally involved in the work at her father’s boat shop.

      “Silas, I need your help.”

      His mouth turned up on one side. “Already?”

      She didn’t return his smile. “I didn’t come back to Haven’s End just to be courted by some gentleman from Hatsfield and get married.” She could feel her face coloring at the steady and attentive way he was listening to her. “I know that’s what Papa expects. I could have stayed in Boston with Cousin Penelope, if that were the case. Or even in Europe,” she added, thinking of the marriage proposals she’d refused.

      “Your father would have been sorry to lose you to Boston or the Continent. Ever since your mother passed away, you’ve been the apple of his eye.”

      She nodded, remembering that awful time when her mother had fallen ill. “Papa needn’t have worried that he’d lose me,” she continued more briskly. “I always meant to come back to Haven’s End, because I want to work here. In the business. I want to build boats, Silas, just like you. Has…has Papa done anything to replace Henry?” she asked, referring to her cousin, whom her father had hired around the time she’d been sent away to boarding school.

      Silas shook his head.

      “Is Papa giving you more to do now that Henry has left?” As soon as Henry had reached his majority, he had accepted a job at a larger shipyard in Boston.

      “My job’s the same as it’s always been.”

      She frowned. “Papa doesn’t need to replace Cousin Henry. He has you. You’re much more talented than Henry ever could be. I’m sure that’s why Papa hasn’t found a replacement for him.”

      When he made no comment, she went on. “My time wasn’t completely wasted those years at the young ladies’ academy in Massachusetts.” She smiled at him conspiratorially. “All that pin money Papa sent me—most of it went for lessons. I learned as much as I could pay for about naval architecture.”

      She leaned forward eagerly, placing a hand on his forearm. “I’ll teach you everything I know. But I’ll need your help, Silas. Papa will fight me on this. Do you believe I can work with you here?”

      She held her breath as he remained silent. Would he laugh at her ambitions the way her father did?

      “I don’t think my opinion holds much weight with your father, but for whatever it’s worth, I’m on your side.”

      “But will you think I’m just a nuisance hanging around here in the shop? Or do you think I can earn an honest day’s pay?”

      “After the time you spent with Henry, I know you’re just as capable as he of drawing up a floor mold.”

      “Thank you, Silas.” Slowly she removed her hand from his arm and offered it to him. He took it in his and they shook on it as if they’d just come to a momentous agreement.

      Silas scraped at his jaw with the razor’s edge. He would have preferred many times over to have stayed down at the yard working on the schooner in the stocks, but he knew Cherish would be hurt if he didn’t attend her homecoming party. She’d made him promise to be there.

      He bent over the basin and washed the shaving soap off his face, wetting the front part of his hair in the process. He patted his face dry before taking up a comb and doing his best to flatten the damp hair as he looked at himself in the small square of mirror hung on the wall above his washbasin.

      His blond hair looked dark and slicked back now, but he knew it would fall back against his forehead as soon as he was out the door. He turned away from the mirror and took up the clean white shirt folded in the chest of drawers. Mrs. Sullivan, Cherish’s aunt, insisted on doing his laundry, ironing and mending his clothes—“keeping him in clothes”—as she called it, the way she’d done since he’d first come to the Winslows as a boy. She said he was family to her and she wouldn’t do less for him than for her own boy, Henry.

      As he unbuttoned the starched shirt and slipped it on, he marveled at how grown-up