The Lighthouse Road

real sad after you were born. Melancholy’s what Hosea called it. Said she had the sadness disease. But still she wouldn’t set you down. She wouldn’t stop ogling you. She was more in love with you than she could even imagine.”

Odd had cradled Harry back in his arm. Now he sat on the end of the davenport.

Rebekah tucked her feet up beneath her to make room for him. “Hosea had a way to get the sadness out of her,” she continued. “Cut it right out of her, that’s how he described it.” She shook her head under her arm.

“What are you talking about, cut it right out of her?”

“He did an operation. An ovariotomy, he called it. He cut the sadness out of her.”

“Maybe there’s a way to cut the sadness out of you.” He couldn’t help feeling hopeful, still clung to some thought they could all three of them be a happy family.

She looked at him under her arm. “Sadness has no hold on me, Odd. It’s something else. Besides, when Hosea got the sadness out of her, he got everything else, too. The whole life of her.”

Odd sat up. “What do you mean the whole life of her? What are you talking about?”

“After the operation. She got sick.”

“You always told me it was a fever she died of.”

“She did. A fever he conjured up, I suppose.”

Now Odd stood. “What’s that mean?”

“Your mother didn’t have any sadness in her, Odd. That’s what I was telling you. She was the happiest person I ever saw in those days after you were born. She needed that operation like the lake needs more water.”

Odd stood there trembling. He’d always been led to believe that his mother had died naturally. A simple fever that had got the best of her. “Are you telling me she got the fever because of Hosea?”

“I don’t know why she got the fever, but it came a day after the surgery.”

“He killed her?” he whispered. “Is that what you’re saying?”

“How could I know?”

Odd looked down at Harry. For a long time he just looked at the boy sleeping in his arm. “How come you never told me before? Why didn’t anyone do anything?”

“He was trying to help her.”

“He’s got every living soul hoodwinked.”

“What difference does it make? The how or the why? You’re an orphan either way. Nothing was going to change that. Not then, not now.”

Odd walked back to the window. The squirrel was still on the bough.

“I believe he thought he was doing the right thing. For what it’s worth, I believe that,” she said.

“What is that? You and this notion Hosea needs defending? He’s lousy. Any way you slice it, he’s lousy. And you talking for the hundredth time like he was some upstanding man.”

“Where would you be without him?”

Odd spun around. “We’re gonna cover that territory again, too? Hell, no.” He shook his head slowly. “Hell, no, we ain’t. Hosea our savior. You must be out of your mind, Rebekah.”

“I guess I am,” she said. “I guess I am.”

And maybe she was. How else to account for her?

Sargent had given Odd two weeks off, and when Odd returned to the boatwright’s on a Monday morning it was with grave misgivings. The week passed and his misgivings grew, and on Friday evening, after work, after Odd had made supper and given Harry his bath, after Rebekah had fed the boy and put him to sleep in his basinet, she asked Odd to sit down. So he did.

She had that look on her face like the night of his birthday, in his fish house. Like she was about to tell him the end times were nigh. “I’m sorry what I told you about your mother,” she said. “I’m trying to—” Her voice emptied out, got lost in one of her sighs.

Most of these conversations during the last week, Odd had just quit. Walked into the bedroom or right out the door. But this night was different. He didn’t know why.

Rebekah began again. “I told you about your mother because thinking of her is the only way any of this makes sense to me. The way she felt, that’s how I’m supposed to feel. I’m supposed to be as happy as she was. I couldn’t get to happiness on a train. Maybe Hosea could make me happy.”

“Sure, give him a chance to kill you, too.”

She looked up at him. “You could never understand. Not about me, or your mother.”

“I don’t understand, you’re right. Not what you’re saying. Not how you’re acting. And sure as shit not how Hosea could make you happy. Hosea goddamn killed her. He killed her and then tried to be my old man. I hope he’s hung himself up by the neck.” There was no rancor in his voice. No exasperation. Not even any curiosity. He was taking his own account was all.

“If you really understand about my mother,” Odd continued, “then you’d see what you’re doing to Harry. He might as well be an orphan. Half an orphan, leastways. How much you hate him.”

“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.”

Strange 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?”