Odd looked at Rebekah, then at the dockhand. “Hello,” he said without confidence.
Now the dockhand was standing beside them. “That’s a fine boat,” he said. “Looks brand new.”
“She just spent her first day in the water,” Odd said.
“Where’d you all come from?”
“We’re up from Gunflint.”
“A good day for a cruise,” the dockhand said.
“A good day for sure,” Odd said.
An uncomfortable silence passed between them. It was Rebekah who spoke next.
“We’re on our honeymoon,” she said.
“Well! Congratulations. Where are you staying?”
“We haven’t made arrangements,” Rebekah said. “Could you recommend a nice hotel?”
“Downtown here you’ve got the Spalding Hotel. It’s as fine a hotel as Duluth has. There’s a good dining room there called the Palm. It’d be a good place to honeymoon.”
“Where is it, exactly?” Rebekah said.
“Corner of Fifth and Superior.”
Rebekah turned to Odd. “It sounds like a fine place.”
“Sure does.”
The dockhand put his hand on his chin and said, “How long will you be in Duluth?”
It was Rebekah who answered. “We’re not sure.”
The dockhand said, “I only ask because most everyone has their boat out of the water by now. The harbor will probably be frozen before long.”
“I reckoned that,” Odd said.
“We offer wintering services,” the dockhand said. “Get your boat out of the water, store it for the season.” He pointed up past the boat club, at a storage yard that Odd had somehow missed since they’d been standing on the dock. Masts reached into the evening, the boats beneath them covered with snug canvas. There were dozens of boats there, sitting for winter.
“That’s just what we need,” Odd said. He turned to Rebekah. “I’ll have her put up for winter, right?” It was a question loaded with significance. More significance than Odd could even imagine, one Rebekah understood with a sense of dread. But there was only one answer. At least for now.
“Of course,” she said.
So they went into the boat club and Odd made arrangements to winter his boat. They’d hoist it from the water the next morning and store it in the yard. There were fees for the hoisting, fees for the storing, fees for the tarp, for everything. By the time Odd and Rebekah were standing outside, awaiting a cab to bring them downtown, Odd was forty dollars lighter in the pocket than he’d been on arrival. It irked him for a spell, spending all that money on something he could have handled himself in Gunflint, but as the carriage pulled up, and as he helped Rebekah onto the bench and heard the horse neigh, and as the cabdriver cracked the reins and the carriage started up St. Louis Avenue, heading for the city lights, Rebekah’s hand on his, he realized he’d have emptied his pockets entirely if it meant this scene played out forever.
In no time at all the road ended under the bridge, the cab stopped, and the driver climbed down and lit a cigar and told Rebekah and Odd that they had to wait for the gondola to carry them across the canal. Odd looked out the canal, at the lighthouse on the end of the pier. The wind had come around from the north. He felt it on his face, knew winter would trail that breeze.
“It’s getting cold,” Rebekah said, as though she could read his mind.
“We just beat it,” Odd said.
The gondola hung from the truss eighty feet above. By some magic of cables and pulleys that Odd could not decipher in the dark, it would cross the harbor entrance. The cabdriver walked the horse by the reins and set the carriage brake and the gondola started across the water. Rebekah and Odd remained on the plush seat in the back of the carriage, their hands warm in each other’s. The surface of the water just beneath them.
When the gondola reached the downtown side of the canal the cabdriver unset the brake and cracked the reins gently and the cab moved toward the hills, toward the city. As they moved into the lights, onto the busy streets, among the ten-story buildings, Rebekah lifted Odd’s arm around her and settled into him. He felt hopeful after that. And as they drove up Superior Street, behind the streetcars, under the gas lamps lining the street, all he could see was the beauty of it all.
They’d been twenty minutes in the cab before the driver stopped in front of the Spalding Hotel, seven stories of stone and leaded glass that was all the proof Odd needed of his insecurities. Still, he stepped from the cab, offered his hand to Rebekah, who took it and jumped down, landing beside him.
“Sir,” a bellhop said, stepping from beneath an awning, “may I take your bags?”
Odd looked at him, this man dressed like a Mountie, and said, “You bet.”
The bellhop retrieved a rolling cart and loaded their belongings. Odd and Rebekah moved cautiously behind him.
Odd heard Rebekah’s breath catch as they entered the hotel. The chandeliers hanging high above the lobby cast a refracted light on the Oriental carpets, the long, elegant sofas and beautiful mahogany tables, each with a vase of fresh flowers at its center, the guests lounging on those couches, their muslin dresses and fine English suits lit by the chandeliers above as though made for that express purpose. All of it was gorgeous and elegant in a way that Rebekah couldn’t have imagined. If the downtown lights, as they approached them in the cab, had softened her, the loveliness of that hotel lobby melted her.
At the counter a man with a handlebar mustache and slicked-back hair greeted them. He wore a black suit and a black tie and a boutonniere of blood-red roses blossomed from his lapel. “Good evening,” he said. “Welcome to the Spalding Hotel. Will you be checking in this evening?”
“We will,” Odd said.
Rebekah said, “We’re on our honeymoon!” and curled her arm into Odd’s.
The man looked from Odd to Rebekah and back again at Odd. “Your honeymoon, yes.” He looked again at Rebekah. “Well, congratulations from all of us here at the Spalding.” His mustache curled up with his forced smile. “Let me see what rooms we have available.” He opened a ledger on his desk and ran his finger up and down a column of numbers. “We have a suite on the seventh floor. How long will you be staying?”
“Can’t say,” Odd said. “Three or four nights, anyway.”
The man behind the desk checked the ledger again and said, “A suite is a must for your honeymoon.” Now he raised his hand and snapped his fingers and the bellhop who had unloaded the cab stepped quickly to the desk. “Bring their bags to the Harbor Suite. Draw the curtains and turn down their bed.”
The bellhop nodded and was gone with the rolling cart of their luggage.
The man behind the desk pulled his watch from his vest pocket, checked the time, and replaced the watch. “Will you be having a late dinner in the restaurant? Or would you like dinner brought to your suite this evening?”
Again Rebekah and Odd looked at each other. They must have appeared as children, so giddy were they.
Rebekah said, “Bring dinner up. Roast beef and potatoes and something sweet for dessert.”
The man behind the desk leaned forward, glanced once in each direction, and whispered, “Would you fancy a bottle of champagne? To celebrate your nuptials?”
Rebekah’s eyes spread wide and a broad smile came across her face.
“Very well,” the man behind the desk said.
He had Odd sign the registry and snapped his fingers again. Another bellhop stepped to the counter. “Bring Mister and Missus Eide to the Harbor Suite. See that their needs are satisfied.” Then to Odd he said, “I hope you enjoy your stay. If there’s anything I can do —
The Harbor Suite was perhaps even more elegant than the hotel lobby. There were three rooms and a turreted sitting area overlooking Superior Street and the harbor below. An enormous four-poster bed covered in silk with a dozen pillows at its head filled the sleeping chamber. The bathroom was twenty feet square
