There were secrets cankering at Grimm’s.
One of Hosea’s strictest rules was that no one — not Odd, not Rebekah, not any visitor — enter his offices on the second floor of the apothecary without his accompanying them. He kept the doors locked and carried the keys on a chain that hung from his belt loop. As a young boy Odd had been given the strap for merely testing the glass doorknob. He’d never been much curious about what was in those rooms, but something had gotten hold of him that spring. So Odd played sleuth.
Late one Saturday night, after he figured Hosea had left for the Shivering Timber, Odd crept out of his bedroom and went down to the second floor. He felt pure of heart but still his pulse quickened. At the bottom of the staircase he paused, tried to stay his quivering sight, and realized that one of the office doors was open. A swath of bright light fell on the hallway floor. Odd could hear voices.
He sat on the bottom step and looked again down the hallway. On his hands and knees he crawled halfway to the light.
“Good, now,” he heard Hosea say. “Yes. Very good.”
“As if there’s a good or a bad,” Rebekah said.
A flash of light came from the doorway, followed by the chemical smell of magnesium and potassium chlorate.
“Why are you such a contrary girl?” Hosea said.
“Why, indeed.”
They were silent for a moment. Odd pushed himself against the wall, the light from the open door not ten feet down the hallway.
“Will you remind me to order more castor oil tomorrow? The Johnsons have near run us dry of it,” Hosea said.
“Of course.”
“Pull the peignoir off your shoulder. There, good.”
“The Johnson kids have been near to death all winter long. Are they going to be all right?”
“The Missus Johnson prefers quackery to doctoring. I’ve given up on her.”
There was another pause in their conversation. More flashing came through the doorway. Odd inched closer to the light on the floor.
“If you’re going to keep me awake all night, you might consider uncorking a bottle of champagne. Anything to hurry this along.”
“You’re difficult enough sober. Inebriated you’d be impossible.”
“Nonsense. If you gave me something bubbly to drink you might actually get a smile out of me.”
There was another flash, then the sound of a match being lit, then a moment later Odd could smell Hosea’s pipe smoke.
Now Odd was only an arm’s length from the doorway. He felt unnaturally calm given the intrigue, but still he was not quite ready to show his face. He knew instinctively that the goings-on in that bright room were none of his business.
“Odd sure is turning wise, isn’t he?” This was Rebekah speaking, and whatever edge had gotten hold of her voice was gone when she spoke of Odd.
“He’s a fine boy.”
“Do you want me to take this off?”
“Yes, take it off. And put the boa around your neck. Straddle the arm of the divan.”
Now there was more quiet, only the faint sound of Rebekah moving around the room. Odd slid so that his left shoulder was only a few inches from the doorjamb. If he’d extended his leg, his foot would have rested on the edge of the light on the floor.
Two or three full minutes passed without a word from either of them. All of the powers of his imagination failed Odd now. He’d never heard the word peignoir nor boa. He could not dream up what was happening in all that flashing light. He had always supposed that Hosea’s medical equipment was stored in the rooms along this hallway, knew that one of the rooms two doors down was his surgery, the room in which Odd himself had been born. But even to his ten-year-old mind there was no logic that might explain a medical procedure of any sort that needed be conducted now, some hours after midnight.
“That’ll get a rise from the perverts,” Hosea said. He clucked his tongue, then added, “Hold your bubs. Push them together.”
“Are we almost finished?”
“We’ll be finished when I say so.”
“Just hurry.”
All Odd heard for the next five minutes was the click and snap of Hosea’s camera and flash. When Hosea said, “That’s enough for now,” Odd jumped to his stockinged feet. He ran to the dark end of the hallway and crept quietly back upstairs. He slid into his bed, the flashing lights from Hosea’s office stayed with him until he closed his eyes and fell asleep.
Hosea was stirring the hash when Odd came down for breakfast the next morning.
“It’s Sunday, right?” Odd said.
Hosea startled at the sound of Odd’s voice, turned from the stovetop to see the lad. “There’s tea in the kettle, boy-o. Grab a cup. Eggs and hash in a jiffy.”
“Why are you awake? Why are you making breakfast?”
“There was business to attend to last night. I missed my frolic. Here I am full of vigor. We’ll be off to church after breakfast.”
“I don’t want to go to church.”
“Why not?”
“Why would I?”
Hosea poured the bowl of whisked eggs into the hash. He sprinkled salt and pepper over it and turned to face Odd. “Why would you, huh? That’s what you want to know, is it, boy-o?” He turned back to the hash, stirred it for a few minutes, then took the skillet off the stovetop and brought it to the table, where he set it on a trivet. He spooned a plateful for Odd, then a plateful for himself, then sat down across the table from Odd. “You might want the Lord on your side, son.”
Odd said nothing, only stared back at him.
“For the fight.”
“What fight?” Odd said.
Hosea blew on his plate of steaming hash. He forked it around his plate. “‘What fight’? Good Christ, what’s wrong with you this morning?”
Odd picked up his own fork and held it before him. “I’m tired out. Couldn’t sleep last night.”
Hosea’s eyes shot up and into Odd, who didn’t flinch. Hosea stared at the boy for a long minute. He smirked. “The fight, boy-o, is this life of ours. I don’t know if you’re equipped to tussle with the big boys, that’s why I say you should have the Lord on your side.”
“I’m ready to fight,” Odd said.
“I’m only speaking as an impartial observer, Odd, but you don’t inspire confidence.”
“I can fight!”
Hosea shook his head. “Eat your breakfast. Then we’ll go to church. And let’s refrain from these boasts, this backtalk. Your virtue is in your tractability. Let’s be a good boy.” He flashed Odd a condescending smile, took a large bite of his hash, then a big swill of his hot tea.
Odd did not go to church. After he finished his hash, Hosea told Odd to make a plate for Rebekah, told him to put it on the stove and to get his church clothes on. Hosea then went to ready himself. When he returned fifteen minutes later, Odd still sat at the table, his legs crossed, a week-old newspaper spread before him as though he were actually vested in the happenings of this town. Hosea said nothing, only walked down the staircase. Odd heard the bell chime and the front door slam shut. He pushed himself back from the table and walked to the sitting room window. He watched as Hosea marched up Wisconsin Street. He watched until he turned north, toward the hillside church, and disappeared.
Odd stepped to Rebekah’s bedroom door then. He put his ear to it to hear if she was awake. After a minute, content that she was still sleeping, he went down to the second floor. All of the excitement of the night before was gone. His heart beat slowly and his sight was steady and clear.
He walked down the hallway and stood before the locked door that had emitted Hosea’s and Rebekah’s voices the night before. He tried to shoulder it open, then took a few steps back and glowered at the door.
It was only a minute before Rebekah came downstairs. He turned to watch her walking toward him. She looked sleepy, still wore her nightdress.
“What are you doing down here, Odd?” she said. Her voice was soft, gentle. It always was with him.
All the balky instincts that had arisen with Hosea that morning were gone now. He felt boyish again. Shy. He looked down at her feet. “What’s a bub?” he said.
Rebekah’s eyes widened and she couldn’t help but laugh. “What? “
“A bub. What’s a bub?”
“Where did you learn that word?”
He turned away. Looked back at the door. “How ’bout a pervert? What’s that?”
“Oh, my,” she whispered.
“How come you and Hosea were up in the middle of the night?”
Rebekah sat down. She sat down right on the floor and crossed her legs. She took Odd’s hand and pulled him down, so they were each sitting cross-legged, their knees touching. She looked right at him with her sleepy eyes.
“I couldn’t sleep last night, so I went exploring. I heard you two down here.”
“Did you see anything? Did you look into this room?” Rebekah nodded at the door without taking her eyes from Odd.
“Last time I tried to get in there Hosea caught me. He gave me the strap.”
“Did you look into this room last night?” she repeated.
“No. I did not. I only saw the lights flashing and heard you talking.” He looked away. “Will you tell me what a bub is?”
“Oh, dear,” she said. She bit her lower lip and took a deep breath. “Let’s see. Do you and Danny ever talk about girls?”
Odd looked back at her. “What do you mean?”
She took his hands, held them over the tangle of their feet. “You know, are there girls in school that you talk about? Pretty girls?”
“Danny says Sarah Veilleux’s pretty.”
“Do you think Sarah Veilleux’s pretty?”
“I don’t know. She’s not as pretty as you.”
Rebekah blushed.
“Danny says you’re pretty, too. Everyone thinks you’re pretty.”
At this the blush washed from her cheeks. “Yes. Well.” She paused, bit her lip again. “People don’t know much.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re only ten years old,” she said.
Odd knew she was just thinking out loud, something she did all the time.
“Ten years old, raised by a misfit and me.” She put her hand on his chin and raised his face. “You hardly have a chance, do you?” She shook her head.
“Why do you and Hosea keep saying things like that?”
“You’re a very fine young man. And so sweet. Maybe too sweet, I think that’s what I mean.”
“You still haven’t said what’s a bub.”
“You’ll learn about bubs soon enough.”
“What’s in there?” Odd said. Again he pointed at the door. “Why ain’t I allowed to see it? How come you can go in there?”
Rebekah stood up, she offered Odd her hands and pulled him to his feet also. “For once I agree with Hosea. You don’t need to see the grown-up things in these rooms. Not now. Not yet.”
“That’s stupid,” he said. He was angry and confused and tired of all the roundabout talking.
“Trust me, sweetheart. It’s not dumb.”
“Quit acting like I’m stupid and a kid.”
He turned to stomp off but Rebekah caught his arm. “You are a kid, Odd. That’s not a bad thing. It’s a good thing. I never got to be a kid.” This last she said in that way of thinking out loud again. She let go of his arm and he went away as quickly as he had the night before.
It was three days later that he broke into the room. A Wednesday, in the evening. The days were just beginning to seem like summer. Odd had rejected Hosea’s invitation to dinner with Rebekah and him at the Traveler’s Hotel with a snide and impetuous “I’d rather eat alone.” Hosea hadn’t even tried to persuade him.
Odd, as he had the Sunday morning before, stood at the window looking down onto Wisconsin Street. He watched as Hosea and Rebekah turned onto the Lighthouse Road, watched as they stopped outside the hotel to talk with Curtis Mayfair and his wife, the rose-colored sunset from above the hilltop faintly lighting their faces. When they walked into the hotel Odd ran downstairs. He fished the filched skeleton key from the pocket of his dungarees. The key fit easily into the keyhole.
He stood on the threshold. It was a windowless room. Dim. Even if it was oddly arranged, if all the furniture was pushed to one side of the room, nothing seemed overly queer. There was a davenport along the back wall, a floor lamp with a lacy shade, a rug on the floor, the divan Odd had heard mentioned the other night. He stood there for a moment, looking around in disappointment. But as the light from the hallway gathered, as Odd’s eyes adjusted to the dimness, he stepped into the room and began to see the curiosities. He lit the sconce on the wall and shut the door behind him.
Along the wall to his right were dozens of wigs, a birdcage filled with faux flowers, a rocking horse built for an adult, a rack of silky undergarments and another of strange costumes. A coat stand draped with furs. There was a chest full of lifelike animals. When he looked closer, Odd saw they were indeed real animals. Dead and stuffed and piled in the chest. A fox, an otter, a beaver with his tail stiff behind him. He walked over to the wigs and inspected one of them. He set it back on the shelf and looked across the room.
Hosea’s photographic equipment was stored along the opposite wall. There were shelves with cameras and jugs of who knew what. Next to the shelves was a closet door. Odd crossed the room and opened the door. The closet was lined with shelves and the shelves were lined with boxes. Each box was the same size. Each had a typewritten label taped to the front of it. Odd took a box labeled beaver / december 1905 from the shelf and walked back into the room. He stood under the light of the sconce.
Until that moment he’d only been confused. Such an odd assortment of bric-a-brac Odd had never seen, but taken together it seemed merely peculiar. Another of Hosea’s strange hobbies. It wasn’t until he opened the box that everything came together.
It was full of postcards. Odd took one from the box and looked at it for a long time. There was Rebekah. She lay on the divan, wearing one of the wigs that he quickly identified on the shelf across the room. She was naked, her breasts full and lying across her chest. One hand was behind her head, the other held the stuffed beaver on her leg. A caption stamped in gold lettering under the photograph read, the beaver trapper.
Even as he tried, he could not take his eyes from the postcard. He looked at the faraway cast of her eyes, the lilt of her chin. He couldn’t say she appeared sad, though there was an undeniable quality to her expression. Or at least a quality to the look in her eyes. Like she could see from where she lay the full bright moon.
He switched his stare to her breasts and it was then he felt his pulse quickening. Just like that. From a glance. And once his pulse started strumming, his vision went blinky and he had to sit down, which he did in the light from the sconce. His guts stirred and he closed his eyes, rested his head against the wall. Why the beaver? Why was she lying that way at all? Why was there a picture of it? And, most confusing of all, why did he have this feeling? He put the picture back in the box and sat there for some time. By some simple instinct he knew that what he’d seen was beyond his capacity to understand, so rather than trying to make sense of it, he pondered the simpler question of how he could keep it a secret.
And so it happened that Odd — only ten years old — passed from childhood. During the following days, he no longer wanted to spend the rainy days sitting on the davenport reading storybooks with Rebekah. He no longer thought it a lark to help Rebekah mix a batch of cookie dough and while away an afternoon eating the cookies as fast as they came out of the oven. He no longer challenged Hosea to chess matches after supper. And he was no longer willing to abide by the rules of the house. His chores went unfinished. He did not eat what didn’t taste good. He no longer trusted the felicity of his young years, no longer trusted much of anything.
In the years to come he would sneak into the closet whenever the chance arose. He went despite his shame. The way a beaten dog will still take scraps from the flogger’s hand.