Mayfair nodded sagely. “I see. Well. Roughly speaking, taken together, your holdings are worth some four or five thousand dollars, I suppose. Are you looking to sell?”
“Not now. Dan Riverfish is going to squat in the fish house until I figure things out. I’d like to make it so anything needs doing, Dan’s in charge.”
“It sounds like you’re talking about power of attorney. What about Hosea? Why not leave Mister Grimm control?”
Odd arched his eyebrows the way Danny always did. He couldn’t help but smile. “I don’t think Hosea’s gonna be happy about my leaving.”
“Odd, you’re being cagey.”
“I don’t mean to be. It’s just complicated.”
“If you insist on making Daniel Riverfish your attorney-in-fact, that’s easy enough to do. And of course, I’ve always got your best interests at heart.”
“I’ve never doubted that for one minute.”
The magistrate pulled open one of his desk drawers and withdrew a piece of letterhead. “I gather that time is of the essence?”
“It is.”
He took a fountain pen from another desk drawer and put his glasses back on and began writing. He spoke as he wrote. “This letter declares that Daniel Riverfish is your attorney-in-fact and as such able to conduct legal and fiduciary matters on your behalf. It takes for granted Mister Riverfish’s willingness to act as such. It will expire in one year, at which time you’ll need to renew the agreement.” He fin ished writing and slid the letter across his desk, offered Odd the pen. “Sign across the bottom.”
Odd did so without reading the letter. He slid it back across the desk. “Let’s say something happened to me, would my property go to Danny?”
“No. Nor would he be able to execute your estate. The power of attorney terminates upon the death of the principal. If you want your estate to go to Mister Riverfish, we’d need to write a will and testament. Do you wish to make Riverfish your beneficiary?”
“No. Anything happens to me, I’d like everything to go to Rebekah.”
Again Mayfair took off his glasses. “Mister Eide, I’d be remiss if I didn’t ask if there’s something I can do. You have my confidence, you understand?”
“I appreciate it, but no help’s needed, not beyond what we’re writing up here.”
Mayfair took a long, deep breath, withdrew another piece of letterhead from the drawer, and wrote Odd’s will.
After Odd signed the will the two men stood and walked together outside. The town was hushed, the harbor water bristling. It was too warm for the end of November. Odd thought of the weather as cautionary.
Mayfair put his hand on Odd’s shoulder.
“Sometimes I look at this place and wonder why I don’t leave myself,” he said.
“This town would fall into the water if you left.”
“Aw, hell, don’t tell an old man stories. I’ve heard them all.”
They walked down the steps and stood on the Lighthouse Road. Mayfair said, “I still remember the day your mother landed here. She came walking up that road the prettiest thing this town ever saw. Could have been carried away by any old breeze, she was so lithesome, but my goodness. Even Missus Mayfair said so.” Curtis turned and looked the opposite direction, toward the apothecary. “Was Hosea that took her in. Was Hosea that found her a life here. Hell, was Hosea that brought you into the world. Just remember that.”
“With all due respect, was my mother that did the bringing. Besides, since when are you in the Saint Hosea Society?”
“Listen, Odd. I know Hosea’s got his eccentricities. We all do. But that man raised his daughter without help. He as much as raised you.”
Curtis Mayfair led Odd to the railing on the other side of the Lighthouse Road. They stood there on the water’s edge. “Hosea Grimm arrived on the first boat in the spring of ninety-three. He stood over there on the beach with his hand shielding the sun, watching the tender go. He was wearing orange jodhpurs and knee-high boots, one of his damn hats. He looked even then like both a clown and a high prince. He gives us folks watching from here a wave, then gets to work. Raised a big canvas tent, gathered firewood, hung his foodstuffs in a tree. He dug two fire pits, fashioned a rotisserie of green spruce limbs over one of them, built a strange cairn five feet tall that looked for all the world like some troll’s quaint hovel over the second. In two hours he had a campsite that would last the season.
“The next morning he tramped into the woods, a pack over his shoulders, a Winchester in his hand. Newcomers always aroused interest around here, but this man come ashore in orange pants and circus hat the day before set a new standard for strangeness. We couldn’t stop wondering about him. Anyway, it was hardly past lunchtime when he walks out of the forest, a tumpline around his forehead, trailing a travois. Tied to the travois was a field-dressed caribou. Two hundred pounds. He brought it to his camp, inverted the travois, and tied it off on a boulder and two trees. Hung the buck from up high. Before he butchered it, he started driftwood fires in both the pit and the cairn. He spent an hour skinning and the time before supper carving the meat off the bones.
“All night he stayed up, stoking his cairn with the green birch wood, smoking the venison. The next morning he walked into the Traveler’s, doffed his hat, and went from table to table introducing himself. Charmed the hell out of a bunch of people not easily charmed. Then he invited us all to his campsite that evening.
“You’ve got to understand, we weren’t much more than a dozen fishing families back then. The Indians living up in the wigwam village. A hundred people in all. Every single one of us gathered at Hosea Grimm’s campsite for his proffered feast. A giant vat of pemmican. We stood there, spooning the grub, listening to Grimm.
“He told us the Minnesota and Dakota Lumber Company had procured twenty thousand acres of land up along the Burnt Wood. Said the next year a hundred lumberjacks, thirty men to run a mill, thirty more to oversee distribution of the lumber, they’d all be moving into Gunflint come springtime. They’d bring their families and build houses and schools and bibelot shops to sell whatever people would buy. He reckoned the town would quadruple in size. It would take some years to fell the forests. Then the same interests would mine the ore and copper in the hills to the west. They’d build railroads and highways. A harbor breakwater would be needed, and a quay to accommodate the great ships soon to arrive. If necessary, the harbor would be dredged so those ships might sail right to the shore. Times were changing, he said, and he was there to help usher in that change. All he asked for in return was a place among us.
“So, sure, he’s got a lot of pots on the fire. And it’s true some of what he cooks up stinks bad as moose shit. But he was true to his word. He never took more than was his, and he got us all ahead of the robber barons. We still own this town. We always will. He had something to do with that. He had a lot to do with that.”
Odd had listened to Curtis with both ears. It was a story he’d never heard before and since it came from Mayfair’s mouth, he had no reason to doubt it. But then he thought of Rebekah, of her life in chains, of the things Hosea had made her do. Odd spit. “I appreciate hearing the story. No doubt it’s a testament to something. But I have my reasons for feeling suspect.”
“I’ve never known you as anything but a straight shooter, son. I believe you’ve your reasons.” He turned to face Odd. “Curious as I am, I honestly don’t want to know what they are. I’m happier to live in ignorance.”
Odd smiled, though nothing was funny. The blind eye was a bad disease in this town. They shook hands and parted without another word.
XIV.