He looked a little uncomfortable.
—I’m just saying, Sally. . . .
—Oh, I know what you’re saying—because you just said it. It came through loud and clear, despite all the hemming and hawing. So let me be loud and clear right back. For the foreseeable future, Mr. Emmett Watson, the only household I intend to be a part of is mine. A household where all the cooking and cleaning that I’ll be doing is for me. Cooking my breakfast, my lunch, my dinner. Cleaning my dishes. Washing my clothes. Sweeping my floor. So don’t you worry about me putting a damper on your fresh start. Last time I checked, there were plenty of fresh starts to go around.
As Emmett walked out the door and climbed into his bright yellow car, I thought to myself that there are surely a lot of big things in America. The Empire State Building and the Statue of Liberty are big. The Mississippi River and the Grand Canyon are big. The skies over the prairie are big. But there is nothing bigger than a man’s opinion of himself.
With a shake of the head, I swung the door shut, then I knocked on the bathroom door to see how Billy was coming along.
* * *
Excepting his brother, I guess I know Billy Watson better than just about anybody. I know how he eats his chicken, peas, and mashed potatoes （starting with the chicken, moving on to the peas, and saving the potatoes for last）。 I know how he does his homework （sitting up straight at the kitchen table and using that little rubber eraser at the end of his pencil to remove any trace of a mistake）。 I know how he says his prayers （always remembering to include his father, his mother, his brother, and me）。 But I also know how he gets himself in trouble.
It was on the first Thursday in May.
I remember because I was in the middle of making lemon meringue pies for the church social when I received the call asking me to come on down to the schoolhouse.
I admit that when I walked into the principal’s office, I was already a little miffed. I had just finished whipping the egg whites for the meringue when I received the call, so I had to turn off the oven and dump the egg whites in the sink. But when I opened the door and saw Billy sitting on a chair in front of Principal Huxley’s desk staring at his shoes, I went red. I know for a fact that Billy Watson has never once in his life had cause to stare at his shoes. So if he’s staring at his shoes, it’s because someone has made him feel the need to do so, unjustly.
—All right, I said to Principal Huxley. You’ve got us here in front of you. What seems to be the trouble?
It turned out that shortly after lunch, the school had what they call a duck-and-cover drill. In the middle of class, while the children were receiving regular instruction, the school bell rang five times in a row, at which point the children were supposed to climb under their desks and put their hands over their heads. But apparently, when the bell had rung and Mrs. Cooper had reminded the children what to do, Billy had refused.
Billy does not refuse very often. But when he chooses to refuse, he does so with a capital R. And no matter how much cajoling, insisting, or reprimanding Miss Cooper resorted to, Billy simply would not join his classmates under their desks.
—I have tried to explain to William, explained Principal Huxley to me, that the purpose of the drill is to ensure his own safety; and that by refusing to participate, he not only puts himself at risk, he gives cause for disruption at the very moment when disruption could do its greatest harm to others.
The years had not been kind to Principal Huxley. His hair had grown scarce on the top of his head, and there was talk in town that Mrs. Huxley had a friend in Kansas City. So I suppose there was some call for sympathy. But I hadn’t particularly liked Principal Huxley when I was a student at Morgen Elementary, and I saw little reason for liking him now.
I turned to Billy.
—Is this true?
Without looking up from his shoes, Billy nodded his head.
—Perhaps you could tell us why you refused to follow Miss Cooper’s instructions, suggested the principal.
For the first time, Billy looked up at me.
—In the introduction to his Compendium, Professor Abernathe says that a hero never turns his back on danger. He says a hero always meets it face-to-face. But how is someone supposed to meet danger face-to-face, if he is under his desk with his hands over his head?
Plain speaking and common sense. In my book, there’s just no substitute.
—Billy, I said, why don’t you wait outside.
—Okay, Sally.
The principal and I both watched as Billy walked out of the office, still staring at his shoes. When the door closed, I turned to the principal so he could see me face-to-face.