Peter Geye - The Lighthouse Road

"No," he said but heard the lack of conviction in his voice even if he didn't feel it.

"She was such a beautiful girl." Rebekah put her hand on Odd's arm, squeezed, then set to clearing the table.

Odd poured another ounce of whiskey into his coffee and took a sip. When Rebekah returned from the kitchen she brought a pecan pie and a bowl of whipped cream.

"I was an ugly runt," Odd said.

"Let's see." Rebekah stood above him, looked down at the picture of Odd and Thea.

"Look at that bunched nose. My head looks like a squash."

"Mmm," Rebekah said. She put her hand in Odd's hair. "Babies aren't usually born with hair like that. You came out looking like a young man. You were serious as one, too."

" Guess I foresaw my lot."

"That doesn't sound like you." Rebekah came around the table and sat opposite him.

" These pictures are a hell of a thing to see. I guess I'm feeling a little squirrelly is all." He folded the picture frame in thirds and smiled at her. " Thank you."

She smiled and took his hand. "Jesus," she whispered. She took a deep breath, shuddered.

"What is it?"

"Nothing," she said quickly. "Let's have some dessert." And she started to quarter the pie.

As she served it, Hosea came from the water closet, adjusting his suspenders, whistling, oblivious. Instead of coming back to the dining table, he detoured to the kitchen, where he packed his pipe and lit it with a wooden match. When he returned to the table he finished the dregs of his coffee and poured an ounce of whiskey in its place and lifted the pictures of Thea, of Odd's mother.

For a long time Hosea looked silently at the pictures, the smoke from his pipe clouding his face. When his pipe was finished he set the pictures down, put his pipe on his saucer, and lifted his cup of whiskey. "I've seen a lot of people arrive in this place. Lumberjacks and Lutheran pastors. Millers and petty con men. You name it. Not one of them impressed me the way your mother did, Odd. Not one of them."

Odd shifted his eyes from Hosea to Rebekah.

"She was impressive, Odd," Rebekah reiterated. "And such a cook!"

"The bread she pulled from the oven." Hosea said, almost a whisper, something wistful in his voice. He shifted the pictures in order to see them again. "Your mother, Odd," he began again, but stopped. Took another sip from his cup. "Your mother departed this world as innocently as she arrived in it. That should tell you everything you need to know about her."

The tone of Hosea's voice struck Odd as nostalgic. These holdings-forth were often easy to ignore, inflated as they usually were. But on that evening Odd sensed sincerity more than anything.

Odd said, "She couldn't have been all innocent. There's me to account for."

"Yes, well, if we spent all night accounting for you we'd need another barrel of Canada's finest to accompany our ciphering," Hosea said. "Let's take your place on this earth for granted. What say? Speaking of your place on earth, I have a birthday present for you as well." He stepped to the sideboard and brought back a large box wrapped in brown paper. He set the box before Odd, who had moved his coffee cup and plate aside. "Now, it's nothing like what Rebekah put together for you, but I hope you'll like it all the same."

Odd looked at the box.

"Go ahead, open it," Hosea said.

Odd, speaking to Rebekah, said, "You know what this is?"

"No doubt it's some foolishness," she said.

"Hush, now," Hosea said. "It's no foolishness at all. Open it. Go."

Odd removed his pocketknife and cut away the wrapping paper. He cut open the box and flipped it open. He pulled out a boat's bell, about six inches round. Circling the bell's waist, a series of fish had been engraved in the bronze. Thirty, perhaps forty fish.

"Goddamn," Odd said.

Hosea fairly beamed. "I ordered it from a bell founder in Bremerhaven, Germany. I thought, perhaps, after the motor went in. The last touch, you know?"

Odd was speechless. He flipped the bell over, felt the smooth interior, the clapper hanging by a leather strap. Sure enough, the words bremerhaven deutschland were engraved on the inside lip of the bell. And the date.

"My goodness," Rebekah said.

"This is something else," Odd said.

"Hang it from the cockpit, lad."

"I will. You bet."

"And now it's fair to ask: What are we going to do with that crated-up engine out back?"

"I'll get Danny over here."

Rebekah put a piece of pie in front of Hosea, who tucked his napkin back into his shirt collar and took his first bite of pie. He said, "Rebekah, have you been over to see Odd's boat?"

Her breath caught. "No."

"You should come over and have a look," Odd said. He winked at her.

"His motor arrived yesterday. From the looks of things, just in time. Winter has arrived." And Hosea pointed out the window. The winds had finally come down from the north, bringing cold and snow. It came in curtains now. The season was changing.

Hosea continued, "I'd venture to guess we've seen the last of our ferrying friends up shore. We'll be set in harbor ice soon."

Rebekah asked Odd, " Would you tell me about the motor?"

"It's a Buda four-stroke. I bought it because the catalog said, 'Buda marine engines embody no freakish ideas or experiments.' Guess I figured there was enough freakishness already laid into her curves and lines."

"What in the world does that mean?" she said.

Odd tipped another finger of whiskey into his cup, filled it with coffee.

"I think what Odd means," Hosea said, "is that he is building an unconventional vessel. He's taking risks in the interest of satisfying his curiosity."

Odd couldn't help but smile. "I'm taking risks, all right." From the corner of his eye, he could see Rebekah press the blush from her cheeks.

"How fast will she go?" Hosea asked.

"Not more than fifteen knots," Odd said, sipping his coffee. "Not more than fifteen knots with a stiff breeze on her tail." He set his cup down. "But I didn't build her for speed."

"When will she be finished?" Hosea asked.

Odd gave the question serious consideration. "All that's left is the motor. And a last coat of varnish. If it came down to it I could launch her in a couple weeks but I'll let her set the season in the fish house. I'll put in the water come ice-out. I'll set my first nets next spring over her side."

"That's exciting," Rebekah said. "Will you take me on her maiden voyage?"

"Does that not go without saying?" Odd said.

They finished their pie and digestifs and Hosea adjourned to his sitting chair beside the fireplace in the parlor. Rebekah and Odd cleared the table and washed the bone-china plates and cups and saucers. As they replaced them in the sideboard, Odd said, "Come over. Tell him you want to have a look."

"Okay," she said

Odd walked to the water closet.

In the kitchen Rebekah hung her apron behind the door, hung the dishrag over the faucet, and pushed her hair behind her ears. She walked into the parlor. "You look like you're about to fall asleep," she said.

Hosea was indeed drowsy. He set the book he was reading on his lap. "You prepared a wonderful feast this Thanksgiving."

"I'm going to see Odd's boat," she said.

"I would join you, but I'm well spent."

"We'll be busy tomorrow. You should go to bed."

Hosea closed the book on his lap. "You're right."

Rebekah hated these conversations, hated that the two of them could fall into the trappings of domesticity like this, hated that they could seem fond of each other. "Odd will walk me back, I'm sure."

Odd came through the house holding the picture frames and the bell. He went to the top of the staircase and said, "Thanks for the eats. Thanks for remembering my birthday. I guess Rebekah's going to have a look at the boat."