—You don’t need to switch on your signal yet, said Billy. We need to go straight for a little longer.
—I’m turning onto Route 34, Emmett explained, because that’s the fastest way to Omaha.
—But the Lincoln Highway goes to Omaha.
Emmett pulled onto the shoulder and looked back at his brother.
—It does, Billy. But it takes us a little out of the way.
—A little out of the way of what? asked Duchess with a smile.
—A little out of the way of where we’re going, said Emmett.
Duchess looked into the back seat.
—Just how far is it to the Lincoln Highway, Billy?
Billy, who already had his ruler on the map, said it was seventeen and a half miles.
Woolly, who had been quietly looking at the scenery, turned to Billy with an awakened curiosity.
—What’s the Lincoln Highway, Billy? Is it a special highway?
—It was the first highway to cross America.
—The first highway to cross America, repeated Woolly in awe.
—Come on, Emmett, prodded Duchess. What’s seventeen and a half miles?
It’s seventeen and a half miles, Emmett wanted to reply, on top of the hundred and thirty that we’re already going out of our way in order to take you to Omaha. But at the same time, Emmett knew that Duchess was right. The added distance wasn’t much to speak of, especially given how disappointed Billy would be if he insisted on taking Route 34.
—All right, he said. We’ll go by way of the Lincoln Highway.
As he pulled back onto the road, he could almost hear his brother nodding in affirmation that this was a good idea.
For the next seventeen and a half miles, no one said a word. But when Emmett took the right at Central City, Billy looked up from his map in excitement.
—This is it, he said. This is the Lincoln Highway.
Billy began leaning forward to see what was coming, then looking over his shoulder to see what they’d passed. Central City may only have been a city in name, but having dreamed for months about the journey to California, Billy was taking satisfaction from the handful of restaurants and motels, pleased to find they were not unlike the ones on their mother’s postcards. That he was headed in the wrong direction didn’t seem to make much difference.
Woolly was sharing in Billy’s excitement, looking at the roadside services with new appreciation.
—So this road stretches from coast to coast?
—It stretches almost from coast to coast, corrected Billy. It goes from New York City to San Francisco.
—That sounds pretty coast-to-coast, said Duchess.
—Except that the Lincoln Highway doesn’t begin or end at the water. It begins in Times Square and ends at the Palace of the Legion of Honor.
—Is it named for Abraham Lincoln? Woolly asked.
—It is, said Billy. And there are statues of him all along the way.
—All along the way?
—Boy Scout troops raised money to commission them.
—There’s a bust of Abraham Lincoln on my great-grandfather’s desk, said Woolly with a smile. He was a great admirer of President Lincoln.
—How long has this highway been around? asked Duchess.
—It was invented by Mr. Carl G. Fisher in 1912.
—Invented?
—Yes, said Billy. Invented. He believed the American people should be able to drive from one end of the country to the other. He built the first sections in 1913, with the help of donations.
—People gave him money to build it? asked Duchess in disbelief.
Billy nodded in earnest.
—Including Thomas Edison and Teddy Roosevelt.
—Teddy Roosevelt! exclaimed Duchess.
—Bully, said Woolly.
* * *
? ? ?
As they made their way eastward—with Billy dutifully naming every town they passed—Emmett took satisfaction that at least they were making good time.
Yes, the trip to Omaha was going to take them out of their way, but having gotten an early start, Emmett figured they could drop Duchess and Woolly at the bus station, turn the car around, and easily make Ogallala before dark. Maybe they’d even make it as far as Cheyenne. After all, at this point in June they would have eighteen hours of light. As a matter of fact, thought Emmett, if they were willing to drive twelve hours a day and averaged fifty miles an hour, they could make the whole trip in under three days.
But that’s when Billy pointed to a water tower in the distance with the name Lewis painted across it.
—Look, Duchess. It’s Lewis. Isn’t that the city where you lived?
—You lived in Nebraska? Emmett asked, looking at Duchess.