The third picture gave him the longest pause. It had been taken upon his mother's arrival in Gunflint in 1895. She rose in a blur behind the Opportunity's mizzen shrouds. In the foreground, a sternline stretched taut to a cleat on the Lighthouse Road. In the background, the spanker flapped in the harbor breeze to accentuate the hoariness. Her hands clenched the rail and her face, split by one of the shrouds, appeared to be going in opposite directions. She was bent at the waist, in the act of standing.
He closed his eyes, felt the urge to cry, and couldn't tell whether those almost-tears were for him or for her. He knew he felt her fear and sadness and loneliness vicariously, could glean her kindness and gentleness from the simple cast of her eyes.
"Was it a mistake? To give these to you?"
Odd looked up at Rebekah, who stood with her hand on the dining table. They were on the third floor of Grimm's, had just finished Thanksgiving dinner, the capon bones still cluttered a platter, the pot of congealed gravy sat on the middle of the table, the coffee cups were still warm. She had given him the pictures for a birthday gift.
"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.