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.”
“Happy birthday, lad. I hope you and Danny can get to the motor soon.”
“We will. Tomorrow, if I can get the truck through the snow.”
Hosea nodded approvingly. “Wait for Rebekah downstairs. I’d like a word with her.”
“Good night, then,” Odd said, and walked down the stairs.
When Hosea was sure Odd had descended the second staircase, he looked at Rebekah. “Your gift to Odd, it was wonderful. Thank you for talking me into finding those old pictures.”
“I’m glad he was pleased.”
“And the bell? You think he liked it?”
“It pains me to say it, but yes, I believe he liked the bell.”
“Pains you?”
“Oh, never mind.” She took her cloak from the front closet. She sat on the divan and laced her boots, then stood to leave. “Good night,” she said and turned to leave.
“Rebekah?”
She turned again. “What is it?”
“Your innocence is not unlike Thea Eide’s ever was. I meant to say that over dessert.”
“I’ve never been innocent a day in my life, you’ve seen to that.”
Hosea sat up in his chair. “Don’t bare your teeth at me like that. I was feeling generous. Be grateful.”
She said, “I’m sorry.”
Hosea stared at her for a long moment. “Very good. Go ahead over to Odd’s.”
They walked up the Lighthouse Road, the hypnotic sound of the waves on the breakwater in the distance. The snow fell slantwise. They passed the hotel and turned up the alleyway and found the lakeside trail that led to Odd’s fish house. There were already four inches of snow on the ground — the first real snow of the season — and Odd kicked a path clear for Rebekah as he went along.
When they came to the gravel beach on the cove, Odd walked to the water’s edge and stood looking out at the lake beyond the point. Rebekah waited up on the knoll, shivering from the wind. She wanted to go inside, had so much to tell Odd. After a minute she said, “Come up, Odd. Let’s go inside. I’m cold.”
He turned to her. “You go in. I’ll be there in a second. Rekindle the fire in the stove.” And then he turned back to look at the water.
The pictures of his mother, now tucked inside his coat, held in place by his hand in his coat pocket and the waistband of his trousers, had awakened something inside him. Was it sadness? Surely the look on her face in those pictures conveyed nothing if not sadness, even the picture in which she held him. Was there another word for this feeling? If he dove into the winter water, would it wash away? He shuddered at the thought of the lake and turned to look up at the fish house, the window in the door now glowing amber from the table lamp she’d lit inside. A kind of beacon. Follow it on in, he thought.