—That was some meal.
I turned to the kid—whose head wasn’t too far over the tabletop.
—What’s the name of that pretty brunette, Billy? The one in the flowery dress and work boots whom we have to thank for this delectable dish?
—Sally Ransom, he said. It’s a chicken casserole. Made from one of her own chickens.
—One of her own chickens! Hey, Emmett, what’s that folksy saying? The one about the fastest way to a young man’s heart?
—She’s a neighbor, said Emmett.
—Maybe so, I conceded. But I’ve had a lifetime supply of neighbors, and I’ve never had one who brought me a casserole. How about you, Woolly?
Woolly was making a spiral in his gravy with the tines of his fork.
—What’s that?
—Have you ever had a neighbor bring you a casserole? I asked a little louder.
He thought about it for a second.
—I’ve never had a casserole.
I smiled and raised my eyebrows at the kid. He smiled and raised his eyebrows back.
Casserole or no casserole, Woolly suddenly looked up like he’d had a timely thought.
—Hey, Duchess. Did you get a chance to ask Emmett about the escapade?
—The escapade? asked Billy, poking his head a little higher over the table.
—That’s the other reason we came here, Billy. We’re about to set off on a little escapade and we were hoping your brother would come along.
—An escapade . . . , said Emmett.
—We’ve been calling it that for lack of a better word, I said. But it’s a good deed, really. A sort of mitzvah. In fact, it’s the fulfillment of a dying man’s wish.
As I began to explain, I looked from Emmett to Billy and back again since the two seemed equally intrigued.
—When Woolly’s grandfather died, he left some money for Woolly in what they call a trust fund. Isn’t that right, Woolly?
Woolly nodded.
—Now, a trust fund is a special investment account that’s set up for the benefit of a minor with a trustee who makes all the decisions until the minor comes of age, at which point the minor can do with the money as he sees fit. But when Woolly turned eighteen, thanks to a little bit of fancy jurisprudence, the trustee—who happens to be Woolly’s brother-in-law—had Woolly declared temperamentally unfit. Wasn’t that the term, Woolly?
—Temperamentally unfit, Woolly confirmed with an apologetic smile.
—And in so doing, his brother-in-law extended his authority over the trust until such a time as Woolly should improve his temperament, or in perpetuity, whichever comes first.
I shook my head.
—And they call that a trust fund?
—That sounds like Woolly’s business, Duchess. What does it have to do with you?
—With us, Emmett. What does it have to do with us.
I pulled my chair a little closer to the table.
—Woolly and his family have a house in upstate New York—
—A camp, said Woolly.
—A camp, I amended, where the family gathers from time to time. Well, during the Depression, when the banks began failing, Woolly’s great-grandfather decided he could never entirely trust the American banking system again. So, just in case, he put a hundred and fifty thousand dollars in cash in a wall safe at the camp. But what’s particularly interesting here—even fateful, you might say—is that the value of Woolly’s trust today is almost exactly a hundred and fifty thousand dollars.
I paused to let that sink in. Then I looked at Emmett directly.
—And because Woolly’s a man who’s big of heart and modest of needs, he has proposed that if you and I accompany him to the Adirondacks to help him claim what is rightfully his, he will divvy up the proceeds in three equal parts.
—One hundred and fifty thousand dollars divided by three is fifty thousand dollars, said Billy.
—Exactly, I said.
—All for one and one for all, said Woolly.
As I leaned back in my chair, Emmett stared at me for a moment. Then he turned to Woolly.
—This was your idea?
—It was my idea, Woolly acknowledged.
—And you’re not going back to Salina?
Woolly put his hands in his lap and shook his head.
—No, Emmett. I’m not going back to Salina.
Emmett gave Woolly a searching look, as if he were trying to formulate one more question. But Woolly, who was naturally disinclined to the answering of questions and who’d had plenty of practice in avoiding them, began clearing the plates.
In a state of hesitation, Emmett drew a hand across his mouth. I leaned across the table.