Peter Geye: The Lighthouse Road

"I don't hate Harry, Odd." She shook her head, as though he were the biggest fool. "You and me. Harry next. We're all orphans."

Odd stood there in disbelief, mustering the right words to end this season's long conversation once and for all. He simply could not bear it any longer. He smiled at her. Shook his head. Said, "Rebekah, darlin', I love you. I don't care how we got here or what kind of right or wrong it is, but Harry is our boy. That's all there is now. That's all there'll ever be. I know you're mixed up. But here's something you need to hear from me." He paused again, looking down at Rebekah, who was looking back up at him with tears in her eyes. "If you abandon our boy once, you abandon him forever. If you walk away, our boy will never know you. Much as it would kill me, I'll see to it. So help me God."

S trange that he should find himself standing outside Gloria Dei Lutheran Church on Sunday morning. Harry was sleeping in his buggy, the canopy pulled up to block the hot sun. Odd himself was shielding his eyes with his cap, looking up at Sargent's church. From inside he could hear the organ piping in harmony with the singing congregation.

He stood there until the doors swung open twenty minutes later and the worshippers came out in their summer dresses and seersucker suits. Sargent appeared midflock, his wife on his arm. They paused on the top step, looked up at the glorious day.

It was Rose who saw Odd and Harry. She raised her hand to greet them, tugged on Sargent's coat sleeve, pointed at Odd. They made their way through the departing throng and joined Odd on the sidewalk.

"Mister Eide, to what do we owe the pleasure?"

"Mornin', Harald. Missus Sargent."

"This must be little Harald," Rose said, peeking under the buggy's canopy.

"That's Harry. Sleeping his fool head off."

Sargent lit a cigarette. "Rebekah's catching up on her own sleep, I gather?"

"I couldn't rightly tell you what Rebekah's doing."

Sargent arched his eyebrows. "Mother, see if you can talk to Pastor Guenther about the bake sale next week, would you?"

She turned a sympathetic eye to Odd. "Mister Eide, it was very nice to see you. And this lovely little boy. What an angel!"

"He is that," Odd said. "He's that if he's nothing else."

The two men watched Rose head back up the church steps. Watched as she took the pastor's arm and headed inside the church again.

Sargent offered Odd a cigarette, which he took and lit and pulled the smoke in. As he exhaled he said, "Rebekah's gone, Harald. Just up and left."

"What are you saying? Where did she go?"

"I have my suspicions about where she went off to, but I couldn't say for sure. Harry here woke up howling this morning and his mama was gone. That's about it."

"She didn't say where she was going?"

Odd looked at him as though to suggest the question was ridiculous.

"What about the boy?"

"The boy's the problem. Or a big part of the problem." Odd tried to gather himself, tried to understand why he was there with Sargent. "It's a complicated business, Harald. It's a sight more than complicated, to tell the truth. Rebekah, she was never keen about having the baby. She was scared and confused. Didn't think she'd know what to do once he came." He paused, took a drag on his smoke.

Sargent had those eyes set on Odd. Didn't even blink as he blew his own smoke out his nose. "Go on, son."

"I guess she was right. See, she was an orphan. We're both orphans, if you want the truth. I suppose she never saw a child being cared for. Never saw how a mother's supposed to act. Anyway."

"Do you mean to suggest that she's gone for good? That she doesn't want to have anything to do with the boy?"

Odd nodded his head.

"That's impossible. A mother can't abandon her child that way."

"Rebekah always had a mind of her own. But I've got a mind of my own, too. I got imagination enough to take care of the boy. Why, hell, just this morning I mashed up some blueberries to feed him. Ate 'em up like that milk from the bub was a long-forgotten thing." Odd tried to smile as though his cleverness was enough. It wasn't. He felt tears welling.

"Son, you can't feed a baby that age blueberries. He needs his mother's milk. Some milk, leastways."

"He ain't never supping at that teat again."

Sargent looked up at the stained-glass window of the church for a long while. Long enough he finished his smoke. He dropped it and rubbed it out with the sole of his shoe, then said, "Are you sure you're not the cause of her leaving, Odd?"

"What do you mean?"

"Did you ever raise your hand against her?"

"Hell, no."

"Did you ever berate her? Demean her?"

"I was never anything but kind and true, Harald. I love her better than anything."

"But she'll come back, son. She can't really leave the boy. Can't leave a man good as you."

"She can and she did, and she ain't coming back. I don't know much, but I know this."

Sargent brought his hands together and hung his head. "Dear Lord, forgive that woman. Forgive her and find peace for her. And for this child, Lord, hold him in your hands. Show him the way." He lifted his face to the sunlight for a moment, then looked again at Odd. "Son, you know you've got a place with me as long as you need. Mother, she can watch the boy until you find other arrangements. I'll call Doctor Crumb. We'll find the boy a wet nurse. Everything will be all right."

"You're right, boss. Everything will be all right. But part of why I'm here is to say good-bye."

" Good-bye?"

Now Odd turned his face up to the sun. "You've been the closest thing to a father I ever had. It ain't even a year I've known you and I'd lay across the tracks for you. But I was always just visiting. I didn't know that until this morning. I'm a Gunflinter, I guess." He lowered his face and took the last draw on his cigarette. "I'm gonna get my boat out of dry dock tomorrow. I'm gonna take this boy home. I'm gonna teach him how to cast a net and build a boat." Now Odd smiled. "I'll build him a skiff so he can run about."

And Sargent couldn't help smile himself. "It'll be a fine boat."

"A damn fine boat."

T he next day Odd and Harald motored home. Roundabout Otter Bay, Odd opened the locker in the cockpit and withdrew the box that held the bell. He locked the wheel and checked on Harry and then, nimble as a cat, Odd fixed the bell to the header in the cockpit.

The rest of the way home he talked to Harry. He told him about the lake, the rivers and streams. He told him about the kinds of fish in the lake and the kinds of men in the world. He told him what kind of man he would be. Motoring past the settlement at Misquah, he told him about the boat. Said, "I built this boat for all the wrong reasons, Harry. It's easy to do things for the wrong reasons. My problem? I never know what the wrong reasons are until it's too late. Same goes for your mother, rest her soul." He looked down at the boy in the crook of his arm. The sun on his pale skin. "See, I built it so I could run more whiskey. Catch more fish. Get more. But now I got all I want." He rubbed Harry's cheek with the back of his thumb, a gesture that would become his regular show of affection. "How could I have known when I dragged that tree out of the woods, when I carved this keel, when I bent the first board, that I'd be cruising with you? I couldn't, you see? But now I know what I never could have: that of all the reasons to have a boat, none is as important as using it to carry your son home. To carry you home, Harry."

Before they reached Gunflint Harry started fussing. The roll and pitch of the water and Odd's voice had left the boy sleeping for the better part of six hours but he woke just east of Misquah. So Odd fixed him a bottle. He had fifty dollars' worth of Dextri-maltose prescribed by Doctor Crumb. He mixed it up and offered Harry the rubber nipple.