He turned over and saw that Billy was gone and the clock on the bedside table read 9:45. Swearing softly, he climbed out of bed and dressed. He had hoped to get in and out of town before church let out.
In the kitchen, he found Billy and Duchess sitting across from each other—and Sally at the stove. In front of the boys were plates of bacon and eggs, in the middle of the table a basket of biscuits and a jar of strawberry preserves.
—Boy are you in for a treat, said Duchess when he saw Emmett.
Pulling up a chair, Emmett looked toward Sally, who was picking up the percolator.
—You didn’t have to make breakfast for us, Sally.
By way of reply, she set down a mug on the table in front of him.
—Here’s your coffee. Your eggs will be ready in a minute.
Then she turned on her heels and went back to the stove.
Duchess, who had just taken a second bite from a biscuit, was shaking his head in appreciation.
—I’ve traveled all around America, Sally, but I’ve never had anything like these biscuits. What’s your secret recipe?
—There’s nothing secret about my recipe, Duchess.
—If there isn’t, there should be. And Billy tells me you made the jelly too.
—Those are preserves, not jelly. But yes, I make them every July.
—It takes her a whole day, said Billy. You should see her kitchen. There are baskets of berries on every counter and a five-pound bag of sugar and four different pots simmering on the stove.
Duchess whistled and shook his head again.
—It may be an old-fashioned endeavor, but from where I sit, it’s worth the effort.
Sally turned from the stove and thanked Duchess, with a touch of ceremony. Then she looked at Emmett.
—You ready yet?
Without waiting for an answer, she brought over his serving.
—You really didn’t have to go to all this trouble, Emmett said. We could have seen to our own breakfast, and there was plenty of jam in the cabinet.
—I’ll be sure to keep that in mind, Sally said, setting down his plate.
Then she went to the sink and began scrubbing the skillet.
Emmett was staring at her back when Billy addressed him.
—Did you ever go to the Imperial, Emmett?
Emmett turned to his brother.
—What’s that, Billy? The Imperial?
—The movie theater in Salina.
Emmett directed a frown at Duchess, who quickly set the record straight.
—Your brother never went to the Imperial, Billy. That was just me and a few of the other boys.
Billy nodded, looking like he was thinking something over.
—Did you have to get special permission to go to the movies?
—You didn’t need permission, so much as . . . initiative.
—But how did you get out?
—Ah! A reasonable question under the circumstances. Salina wasn’t exactly like a prison, Billy, with guard towers and searchlights. It was more like boot camp in the army—a compound in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of barracks and a mess hall and some older guys in uniform who yelled at you for moving too fast when they weren’t yelling at you for moving too slow. But the guys in uniform—our sergeants, if you will—didn’t sleep with us. They had their own barracks, with a pool table, and a radio, and a cooler full of beer. So after lights-out on Saturday, while they were drinking and shooting pool, a few of us would slip out the bathroom window and make our way into town.
—Was it far?
—Not too far. If you jogged across the potato fields, in about twenty minutes you’d come to a river. Most of the time, the river was only a few feet deep, so you could wade across in your skivvies and make it downtown in time for the ten o’clock show. You could have a bag of popcorn and a bottle of pop, watch the feature from the balcony, and be back in bed by one in the morning, leaving no one the wiser.
—Leaving no one the wiser, repeated Billy, with a hint of awe. But how did you pay for the movies?
—Why don’t we change the subject, suggested Emmett.
—Why not! said Duchess.
Sally, who had been drying the skillet, set it down on the stovetop with a bang.
—I’ll go make the beds, she said.
—You don’t have to make the beds, said Emmett.
—They won’t make themselves.
Sally left the kitchen and they could hear her marching up the stairs.
Duchess looked at Billy and raised his eyebrows.
—Excuse me, said Emmett, pushing back his chair.
As he headed upstairs, Emmett could hear Duchess and his brother launching into a conversation about the Count of Monte Cristo and his miraculous escape from an island prison—the promised change of subject.